


witched

by LaughingSenselessly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A little bit of everything really, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As in after everyone graduated from college, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Non-Graphic Smut, Pack Feels, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Slow Burn, Stydia, Technically Speaking, mostly POV Lydia Martin, so its in the same universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 80,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4273674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingSenselessly/pseuds/LaughingSenselessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One minute, she and her pack were fighting a powerful witch in Beacon Hills.<br/>The next, she’s waking up in bed next to Stiles freakin’ Stilinski in a life she has no memory of.</p><p>Forgive Lydia Martin if she wasn’t prepared for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the stuff of dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This idea gripped me the other day and would not let me go, and then I went on a three hour bike ride and ended up literally spending the whole time planning out this fic instead of, you know, enjoying the view and stuff. I'm a total loser. Anyway, I digress. Let's begin. :)

Lydia Martin bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath and heart beating wildly.

Her panic was met with silence. She couldn't see a thing in the dark, she had no idea where she was, or how she got here. All she knew was that she was in a bed.

And it wasn't hers.

She attempted immediately to take stock of her surroundings; it didn’t help- she was sprawled in a large, foreign-feeling bed, and from what she could see of the bedroom as she squinted through the darkness, breathing rapidly, this was a place she'd never seen in her life. She definitely did _not_ own a baseball calendar. Her window was definitely not on _that_ wall. That was definitely _not_ her dresser, and her own closet (which she would _never_ leave open) did  _not_ have men's jeans in it. And what the _hell_ was that piece of furniture covered loosely by a piece of cloth...

Since it was dark, she didn’t notice the bed’s other inhabitant until he spoke, voice drowsy from sleep.

“Lyds? You okay?”

She whipped her head around, and there, lying next to her where he had no business being, was Stiles Stilinski, blinking his eyes rapidly in her direction.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out, even when he repeated her name again. It felt like thirty seconds ago she’d been fighting with the pack against that witch that was trying to suck power out of the Nemeton (no surprise there). Stiles’ panicked yell before she blacked out was the last thing she remembered.

Meanwhile, the Stiles next to her stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Oh my god, are you in a fugue state? Are you gonna find a dead body? This is so cool. Wait, I’m coming with you.” He started fumbling around the bedside table, presumably for the lamp switch. “You’re like one of those police dogs that go sniffing for stuff. Except you’re sniffing for a dead body. Um. That’s a bad comparison, since you’re not a dog, you’re a banshee. Wow, I am so glad you’re in a fugue state right now.”

“Stiles,” she said finally, his flailing demeanor shaking her out of it, “I’m not in a fugue state.”

He stiffened a little, and then turned around, eyes wide and hands placating. “I swear I don’t see you as a police dog.”

“Stiles,” she said again, because his name on her lips made her feel grounded. Her voice didn’t feel like her own. This must be a dream. A terrible, terrible dream. Jesus, was she fantasizing being domestic with Stiles? Her mind needed to get a grip. “I… just need to go to the bathroom.” WIthout waiting for a response, she slipped out of the sheets and walked out of the room, feeling blind.

Miraculously, the tiny bathroom was right next to the bedroom, and she breathed a sigh of relief before shutting the door and locking it. At least her brain was being slightly logical in her fantas- dreams.

“Okay, Lydia,” she muttered to herself, leaning against the counter and squeezing her eyes shut. “Wake up. Just a dream.”

She opened her eyes. Her bewildered stare looked back at her, wearing a thin green nightie and… oh god, was that a hickey on her neck?

She squeezed her eyes shut again, not wanting to think about how that got there. “Come on.” She pinched herself on the arm. “Just a dream.” She opened her eyes. Nothing. She sighed deeply.

She wracked her brain, struggling to remember the fight against the witch- it now felt like a distant memory. Maybe they’d won. Maybe they’d gone home after, and Lydia had gone to sleep. It was possible she just wasn’t remembering that, the memory of going to bed overshadowed by the rather explosive evening.

Yes, that was it. That made sense. She nodded to herself. Maybe she should just go with it. She’d had worse dreams, after all. She shuddered at just the memory of what Peter Hale had put her through.

Exhaling shakily, she raked her gaze over her own appearance again. Her eyes fell on another detail she hadn’t noticed before- something sparkling on her finger as it caught the light.

A ring.

She thought she might have stopped breathing for a moment.

Not real. Not real, she reminded herself.

“Really?” she muttered to herself after a long pause. She maybe- sort of- possibly- had slight feelings for Stiles Stilinski, _back in high school-_ but now her subconscious was just going too far. She had a boyfriend, after all. And now here she was dreaming about being- what, married? engaged?- to Stiles Stilinski, the resident goofball.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she exited the bathroom, turned off the light , and stepped back into the bedroom. Stiles was slumped back on the pillows, snoring lightly.

Feeling like there was nothing else to do, she slipped back into the bed, feeling his arm snake around her waist. It was strangely comforting. Maybe if she fell asleep here, she’d wake up. Or the dream would change. Or something.

She swallowed and closed her eyes. Yes, that was it. Just go to sleep. This wasn’t real.

Stiles chose that moment to bury his face into the crook of her neck, his nose rubbing along the skin there. “Mhmmm,” he mumbled in his sleep. His lips brushed against her jaw. The sensation sent unwarranted chills down her spine, and suddenly certain things were feeling a little too _real_ for Lydia’s liking.

But that was all that happened. Stiles fell silent, nestled against her; Lydia, despite herself, relaxed in his arms. Maybe this dream wasn’t so bad. And just like that, she drifted off.

* * *

For the second time, Lydia bolted up in bed. The morning sky outside the window was bright, birds were chirping, and Lydia Martin was...

In the same. Damn. Bedroom.

Okay, now she was worried.

She glanced beside her- Stiles was gone. She threw the covers off and bolted out of the room, not even caring that her hair was a mess and all she was wearing was that green nightie (which she didn’t think she even owned in reality).

She ran down the hallway and skidded to a stop, realizing this wasn’t a house, but an apartment. A rather nice apartment at that. In fact, it was absolutely the kind of home that Lydia would pick for herself…

Breathing shallowly she finally spied the apartment door out of the corner of her eye, and with a single minded focus approached it. What would be behind the door? Would she find herself in another one of her sophomore dance-and-Peter Hale dreams or-

Out of nowhere in her sprint for the door, two large arms enveloped her in a warm hug so tight she was lifted off her feet.

“Where’re you in such a hurry to go, Mrs. soon-to-be Stilinski?” teased a voice that was all too familiar. Heart still beating wildly in her chest, she was dimly aware of the kiss he planted on her forehead. “Stay a while. In fact, stay forever.” A pause. “And not in the creepy horror movie way. What I mean is...” He exhaled as his mouth ran him into a corner, and Lydia almost had to grin because that was _such_ a Stiles thing to do. “ _Anyway_. I made blueberry waffles. Your favourite.” And then he leaned down and pecked her on the lips.

Lydia finally came to her senses. Stiles, her apparent fiancé, did _not_ make her blueberry waffles because this wasn’t Stiles and he definitely wasn’t engaged to her. “Let go of me.”

He stiffened at her tone, and pulled back to look her in the eye with his own whisky brown ones, hands still stroking at her elbows. Now that he wasn’t so close, she noticed he was wearing an undershirt that quite nicely showed off his toned arms that Lydia definitely did not see often. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she half-shouted at him, and he was so alarmed by her shriek that he stepped back, slipped in a spot of waffle batter on the otherwise spotless floor, and fell backwards into the table with a resounding crash. It would have been funny if Lydia wasn’t panicking so much. “You’re not Stiles!” she shouted at him, and he looked utterly bewildered from where he was picking himself up off the floor.

“Lydia, what the hell-”

“Get out of my head,” she cut him off, hissing. “Just stop. Stop.” She rubbed her hands over her face vigorously. “Wake up, wake up,” she muttered. A sudden thought struck her.

Aware of his confused and worried gaze following her, she practically flew to the bookshelf and grabbed a random book with shaking hands.

The cover read _World War II: Weapons of Mass Destruction_. She could _read_ it.

Which meant…

“No, no no,” she muttered, sliding down the wall until her butt hit the floor. “No.”

Stiles cautiously approached her. “Lydia?”

She finally looked up at him, and she knew how afraid she looked. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered. “Please. Tell the truth.”

He squatted in front of her, and for once there was no trace of laughter in his eyes. Only a gentleness that she knew he reserved only for her. He held his large hands up. “Why don’t you count with me and find out,” he responded.

She swallowed as he brought the first finger up. “One,” she said shallowly, voice cracking.

“That’s right,” he coaxed. Next finger.

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four. Five. Six. Seven, eight and nine and… ten…” her voice trailed off, and all ten of Stiles’ long fingers were waving at her. Not an extra one in sight.

She exhaled slowly and leaned her head back, and he sat down on the floor next to her. They sat in silence for a minute, Lydia trying to process everything and make sense of it (and coming up blank).

“So, what was that all about?” he asked, his hand now reaching to stroke her hair back from her forehead.

She let him. She was too overwhelmed and didn’t even know what to think anymore. “Stiles… I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” Stiles said with a small grin, now playing with a strand of her hair. “Well, asides from your thesis defense in a month. And our engagement party next week. Surprisingly, nothing supernatural has plagued Beacon Hills in a good two months.” He frowned, glancing briefly at her. “Well, I didn’t _think_ there was, anyway.”

Nothing supernatural? Lydia ignored the engagement party thing to worry about later and gripped her knees tightly. “So there’s no witch that we’ve been dealing with?”

“I can confirm zero witchiness,” he replied with a slight smile. “Was that part of your dream?”

Unless her entire life as she knew it was part of a dream, then no. “Stiles,” she said hesitantly. “I… I’m not marrying you.”

The hurt that instantly flashed across his face was all too visible. She quickly tried to amend her callous statement.

“What I mean is… I don’t remember ever being engaged to you in the first place. I don’t remember ever being with you. We’ve _never been together_.”

She watched him slowly register this; the hurt was replaced with a wave of confusion. “Then what _do_ you remember?” he asked softly.

She wracked her brain. “I remember… a witch,” she replied, equally softly. “We… the pack, I mean… we were fighting her…” And slowly, the realization dawned. “Oh my god. That bitch…”

She looked up to see Stiles looking baffled.

She took a deep breath. “Can you listen to me and not think I’m crazy?”

He offered her a little smile. “As I’ve said before, there’s nothing you could say that would make you seem even a little bit crazy to me.” Well, at least _that_ was real.

“There is a witch in Beacon Hills,” Lydia said. “And she is incredibly powerful. We were fighting her. Or, at least trying to.” She paused; Stiles was listening attentively, even though she knew how insane this must sound. “I think she did something to me during that fight. Something that made this” she gestured around them, “happen.” She took another deep breath because she wasn’t sure he was going to take this well. “Stiles… I don’t think any of this is real. I don’t… I don’t think _you’re_ real.”

There was a long silence. Stiles stared at her, lips parted slightly and eyebrows furrowed.

She bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t have said that. How would _anyone_ take that? She sounded like a crazy person, and Stiles was probably trying to think of ways to create a makeshift straitjacket.

Instead, Stiles rocked back on his heels. “Okay.” He got up from the floor and held out a hand to her.

“Okay?” she echoed, hesitantly accepting the hand that pulled her up. Just like that? Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was in need of a good stay in Eichen House.

“Yeah,” he said in a strange tone of voice, nodding. “I got it. I’m not real. According to you. My entire life is a lie.”

“And you accept that,” Lydia stated.

“I’m not saying I accept it as fact, exactly… but you’re the one with the genius level IQ,” he said with a shrug, and she had to marvel at this man, this man who was so faithful and loyal to her that he would follow her to the ends of the earth on her smallest whim. “So let’s just say you’re right. I mean, let’s be honest, you usually are. One of the many reasons I love you.” She glanced away from his gaze, awkward from those words even though he said them so easily she got the impression it was something he was used to saying to her. “So I’m not real. All right. What else?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia said. “I, I just don’t.” She scrubbed at her face with her hands, suddenly exhausted. “All I know is I need to find a way out of this place. Fast.”

“I’ll help you,” he said earnestly.

She looked up. “Really?” After she’d just told him he was just a figment of her imagination he’d accepted it as law and was now willing to basically… help him not exist? God, this made no sense, even to her.

“Well, of course,” he beamed at her. “Real or not real, there’s no reality or fantasy where Stiles Stilinski wouldn’t help Lydia Martin solve a case.” He turned back to the stove. “We’ll call a pack meeting today. Maybe we can help you figure things out.”

“Okay,” she said finally, falling into a stool. She didn’t really feel like re-explaining all of this to the skeptics in the pack, but it seemed to be her only option at this point. “Thank you.” The words tasted odd in her mouth, but it felt only right to say them.

He waved the gratitude off with a flailing hand gesture that only Stiles would be able to pull off. “Don’t mention it. In other news, the waffles are burned, but I have more batter. Would you care for some dream-waffles? I mean, they’re already dreamy. You said so yourself when you tasted them for the first time. But now, apparently they’re, like, literally dreamy. Because we’re in a dream. A magic dream where you can read and I have the proper amount of digits. Man, you know what this means? I’m literally the _stuff of dreams_ to Lydia Martin…”

She knew him well enough to know that he joked incessantly when he was nervous or stressed. But at the moment, she had to tune him out, concentrating on the facts she knew. She still felt like she was missing something. The group had known next to nothing about the witch they had been dealing with. All of her conclusions about this scenario were shaky and frankly, didn’t have any basis in fact. She simply thought this was a dream because that was what her past experiences led her to believe.

 Her instincts were screaming something different at her though; something that terrified her even more than the prospect of being trapped in her own dreams.

The idea that maybe this was all actually _real_. 


	2. curioser and curioser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia meets the pack... and things are a little different than how she remembers it. To put it lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I was pleasantly surprised at the response I got to the first part so thank you all sooo much for indulging me :) I hope you enjoy this installment!

Lydia didn’t know why she was taking the time to freshen up, but here she was standing under the shower spray. She eyed the cluster of shampoo bottles on the side before grabbing one, popping the cap, and sniffing it. It smelled like Stiles.

She put the bottle down like it was too hot to touch and reached for the familiar bottle beside it. It was the exact same shampoo Lydia used. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. This little world seemed to take pride in being accurate. Well, asides from her relationship with Stiles, anyway. And yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to take the ring off.

She washed up quickly and slipped into a cute white skirt and blue blouse she’d found in the closet, and swiped some mascara and red lipstick on to make herself feel composed.

She surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked professional, cool and collected; just the way she liked it. Except- she frowned. The hickey she’d discovered last night was starkly obvious now against her pale skin and the collar of her shirt wasn’t high enough to cover it. She bit her lip and reached for the concealer.

A few minutes later, she found Stiles sitting on the couch in the living room, already dressed in orange plaid over a white shirt. His hair, as usual, stuck up adorably every which way. He didn’t look up when she entered, and she noticed his focus on something he held in his hands. A picture frame.

She came up behind him quietly, but he seemed to sense her anyway. “Hey,” he said quietly.

She peered over his shoulder and took a look at the picture. It was of them- Lydia and Stiles, standing on a cobbled street. Stiles had lifted Lydia into a hug, pulling her off her feet, and Lydia had her arms wrapped around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He was laughing, and she… she looked incredibly happy. It looked like the perfect life.

Except, Lydia had to remind herself, it didn’t happen. She had no memory of this photo ever being taken.

“Scott took this picture,” Stiles spoke out of nowhere. “On our four-year anniversary.”

“Four years,” she echoed.

“Well, going on five now,” he replied. “Five years together… some of the happiest years of my life. Of course it turns out they might not even be real,” he half-mumbled this last part to himself, but Lydia heard him anyway.

She slid on the couch next to him. “Tell me.”

He turned to look at her now, and his expression seemed to be shut off somewhat. “Tell you what?”

She opened her mouth, hesitating. Did she really want to know? Did she really want to open this can of worms? Her mouth decided for her. “Tell me about... us.”

He squinted at her in surprise but didn’t comment on it. “It was in the middle of college. Malia and I had just broken up– ”

“Right,” Lydia said. She remembered that all too well and with a little too much satisfaction- and guilt at that because she remembered how sad Stiles had been for a while. In any case, some parts of reality were intact, it seemed.

“Yeah,” he said, now staring off into space. “And… a few weeks later, you asked me out. I felt sort of emasculated but, there you go.” He paused in the story to wink at her. Lydia felt an absurd pride at her alternate self for taking charge of her own romantic life for once. “We went to some really shitty restaurant, they gave me the wrong order and then I might have spilt a drink on you,” he made a face and she tried not to giggle, “but apparently that wasn’t enough for you to change your mind about dating me. And after college we moved in together. And a few weeks ago, I proposed,” he said softly. “And you said yes.” A small smile graced his lips and his eyes crinkled up at the edges at the memory.

Inexplicably, Lydia felt some of that happiness fill herself at just the idea of it. Undeniably, there was some part of her that absolutely _sang_ at the thought of sharing her life with Stiles Stilinski.

And that freaked her out. A lot.

She stood up suddenly, almost knocking Stiles off the couch in the process. “We should really get going,” she said loudly, hitching her purse a little higher onto her shoulder. “The pack will probably be waiting.”

He got up slowly. “Right.” Then he seemed to shake himself out of it, and he squared his broad shoulders. “Right. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Stiles’ Jeep pulled into the driveway of a cute-looking two story house, complete with green grass and a white picket fence. She raised her eyebrows at the sight. A little too cliché for her own tastes, but… “Who’s house is this?”

“Scott and Allison’s,” Stiles replied nonchalantly, getting out of the vehicle and walking over to her side to open the door. “Lydia?” he said uncertainly when she didn’t move.

In fact, she felt sort of frozen in place. Every thought in her head seemed to have evaporated at the mention of that name.

“Lyds?” he said again, reaching out to touch her arm.

“Allison is here?” she finally got out.

His brow furrowed. “Yeah, of course she is, she lives here… with Scott, they’re married and everything, it sort of makes sense…” His voice was laden with teasing sarcasm,  “why?”

She opened her mouth to explain but instead what came out was, “I...” she swallowed thickly, “I don’t remember them being married.”

His eyebrows raised and he grinned lopsidedly at her. “First me and you, now Scott and Allison. So you dream about people getting together that aren’t actually together. Didn’t know you were such a romantic at heart, Lyds.”

She attempted a smile as he took her hand and helped her out of the Jeep. She felt sort of numb as she trailed behind him to the front steps, only dimly aware as he rang the doorbell and turned to her, saying, “I didn’t tell them all of it, but I told them to expect you not to remember a lot of stuff from the past couple of years.”

She just nodded. She heard muffled sounds behind the door, various voices she recognized shouting at each other- “Can you get it?” “Isaac get it!” “Isaac’s been in the bathroom for the past half hour!” “What the hell Isaac!” “It’s not my fault you have so many magazines in here!” “Shut up guys, she’s got it!”- Stiles snorted behind her; and footsteps approached the door. It swung open. And there she was.

A beautiful woman with wavy dark hair reaching just past her shoulders, and a dimpled smile that no one could resist. She was older than Lydia had ever seen her, taller and cheekbones more prominent, but there was no doubt.

This can’t be a dream, Lydia realized. Because if it was, Allison would have appeared to her exactly as Lydia remembered. She never would have been able to imagine Allison as a grown woman.

This was a discovery that meant many things, but only one thing that mattered right now:

Allison was alive, here, _real_.

Lydia couldn’t control herself- she let out a half-sob, clapping one hand over her mouth, and rushed into her best friend’s startled arms.

“Allison,” was all she could manage, voice breaking somewhere in between.

Allison stood stock-still for a moment before letting out a little laugh. “Hello to you too, Lydia?”

Lydia didn’t mind the teasing tone. She didn’t mind anything Allison said right now, as long as Allison continued to be alive and well in front of her.

She stood there as long as it felt acceptable to do so, arms wrapped tight around Allison, and then took a deep breath and stepped away.

Allison’s eyebrows looked about ready to shoot off into outer space. “Stiles told us you were having memory problems, but… honestly, are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Lydia felt tears at the corners of her eyes but willed them away. “Something like that,” she said finally, grimacing at the irony. “Look, I have to talk to you all.”

“Yeah, of course, everyone’s waiting in the living room,” Allison said dismissively, waving in the general direction with one hand. A hand, Lydia noticed, adorned with a wedding ring.

“Except Isaac,” said a voice behind her in the hallway, and none other than Scott McCall stepped beside her and kissed her on the cheek. Lydia’s eyes strayed down to Scott’s hand, and sure enough, a wedding band was on his ring finger.

Allison scrunched her nose up in that adorable way of hers and grinned at her- husband? Maybe Lydia _was_ right and this was just a fantasy in her own head. “We can start without Isaac,” she said in a playful, dismissive tone.

“Hell _yeah_ ,” Scott muttered self-righteously, leaning in for a short kiss.

“She dated Isaac for like two months, _six years ago_ , it’s time to let go of the grudge,” Stiles said loudly to his best friend, and then leaned closer to Lydia to stage-whisper. “They’ve been married two years and they’re still into regular PDA. Sickening, isn’t it?”

Scott pulled away to raise an eyebrow at his best friend. “You and Lydia are way worse.” (Stiles scoffed.) Scott grinned at Lydia. “Hey Lyds.”

“Hey,” she managed to squeak.

As the happy couple led her and Stiles to the living room, she whispered to him: “Two years?”

“They married right out of college,” he explained, doing that thing where he put his hand on her back to guide her, an action that always made the room feel a few degrees warmer. “They were on-again, off-again through high school, do you remember that?”

She swallowed. “Sort of.” _Allison dying put a damper on things_ , she found herself morbidly thinking, but before her brain could go further they entered the room. Familiar faces filled Lydia’s vision.

Kira, Malia, Liam, Cora Hale, Isaac (walking in behind them), and Deaton lounged on black couches.

There were raucous calls of greeting and Lydia murmured a hello, casting a beseeching look at Stiles.

He got the hint. “We’ve got some stuff to tell you guys.”

* * *

 

The group didn’t take it too well.

“She thinks we’re a dream?” Cora scoffed.

No, not really, Lydia wanted to say, but didn’t because then she would have to explain things about Allison Argent that no one wanted to hear. So for the time being she kept her mouth shut.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I feel pretty real to me,” Isaac commented, examining his own hands.

“How do we know there’s not something wrong with her?” Liam asked cautiously.

“There’s not,” Stiles snapped, stiffening.

“I don’t know, Stiles. She doesn’t remember random things, and she _is_ acting strange,” Malia shrugged.

“How do we know we don’t have another Nogitsune on our hands?” Cora stood up, jabbing her finger into Stiles’ chest. “What if she’s literally waiting around to kill us and you’re letting your feelings get in the way?”

Stiles eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at Cora’s cutting tone.

And then his eyes glowed. _Red_.

Lydia was sure her jaw literally dropped.

He glared, hard, at Cora, and when he spoke his voice was something more of a growl than human. “You’re _out of line_ ,” he ground out.

“Cora, just sit down and we can talk about this,” Scott called out from the corner of the room, but Cora had already stepped back a step. Stiles glanced back behind him to shoot what he must have thought would be a reassuring glance at Lydia, but his glowing red eyes had her rooted in place.

She must have made some sort of sound, because suddenly everyone was looking at her.

“Lydia?” Stiles asked with concern, voice now back to his normal, raspy tone. His eyes faded back to their warm honey brown.

And yet, she still couldn’t respond.

Stiles was a werewolf. An _alpha_ werewolf.

And that definitely wasn’t something that had a place in any fantasy of Lydia Martin’s.

Lydia was dimly aware of the chorus of voices saying her name but a high-pitched sound seemed to be ringing through her ears even louder.

“Lydia?”

 “Lyds, snap out of it!”

“Oh, she’s in a fugue state _now_?”

One voice cut through the rest. “Lydia, listen to my voice. You’re okay,” said the gentle voice of Allison Argent.

She blinked several times and refocused on where she was- slumped on the couch, everyone peering at her from where they were standing. Except Stiles, who sat beside her and was stroking her hair away from her face.

“You okay?” he asked worriedly. “You zoned out there for a sec-“

“You’re a werewolf?” she blurted.

There was a small silence. Then, confused: “Um, yeah? It’s kind of been a significant part of my identity for the last several years?” He raised his eyebrows. “Ring a bell?”

Lydia was getting a bad feeling about this. She looked at Scott, who was hovering nearby with his mother-hen look. “Are _you_?”

“What?” Scott asked, exchanging a glance with Allison.

“Are you a werewolf?” Lydia repeated in a slightly hysterical voice.

“No,” Scott said with absolute certainty, looking puzzled.

“Lyds, you okay? Your heart’s beating about a million miles a minute right now,” Stiles said with concern, touching her elbow.

She jerked her arm away from him and he recoiled instantly. “Stop listening to my heartbeat!” she nearly shrieked. It was a little too much to process. Allison alive. Scott a human. Stiles a werewolf.

_Stiles_ \- he looked like Stiles, acted like Stiles, _was_ Stiles _without a doubt_ \- but he wasn’t _her_ Stiles.

Where the hell _was_ she?

Her vision was starting to grow hazy from panic.

“Oh, no,” she heard Scott say. “I think she’s having a panic attack!”

“Breathe, Lydia, breathe,” a female voice soothed. Kira?

“What’s happening?” Isaac yelled.

Deaton’s voice cut through the rest, his tone reassuring. “This is too much to process for her right now, everyone quiet down.”

“ _Too much to process_?” Malia said incredulously. “She already knows this stuff! She’s been around us since the very start!”

“I’m not so sure this is the girl who was,” Deaton said vaguely.

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Too. Much. Noise.

At least, until she felt herself being lifted up off from the couch, bridal-style, and the noise of the living room faded from distance. “Lydia,” Stiles said. “Lydia. Breathe.” His raspy voice was calm and soothing. “Come on. Hold your breath, remember? You’re okay. We’ll figure this out. You’re okay. Breathe, can you do that for me?”

Her chest heaved and she struggled to do what he was begging her to do.

“That’s right,” he cooed. “Focus on my voice. You got it.”

And gradually, gradually, her breathing slowed and she opened her eyes. She was lying on a bed in a cozy room, and sitting next to her on the pillows was Stiles, gazing at her with concern.

He didn’t say anything, just took her hand gently in his, intertwined their fingers, and waited.

She stared at their joined hands for a long while- trying not to examine how safe and warm that hand felt joined with hers- and was still staring at it when she quietly spoke, voice feeling hoarse: “You’re all real.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “When did you come to that conclusion?”

Lydia shook her head dismissively, not bothered to explain. “It just became obvious,” she replied quietly. “The only question is, if this is real, then…”

“Why can’t you remember it,” Stiles finished, but she shook her head vehemently.

“No, that’s not it. I _remember_ our lives, Stiles. Just a different version of it.”

Knowing Stiles would never think she was crazy removed her filter, and that was proven when he nodded sagely like that made sense and waited for her to elaborate.

Just then the door opened and Stiles finally tore his gaze away from her to look. Scott, Allison and Deaton stood in the doorway.

“You okay now?” Allison asked, leaning against the frame. Lydia nodded mutely.

“Lydia says we’re real now,” Stiles joked to the three of them, but then instantly grew serious. “But she remembers a totally different version of our lives.”

Lydia decided to continue. “In my version of events Stiles is the human and Scott’s the alpha.”

There were raised eyebrows all around. She supposed that must sound as absurd to them as Stiles being a werewolf sounded to her.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Allison elbowed Scott. “ _You_ , a werewolf,” she teased.

“It’d be hot and you know it,” he grinned at her, nudging his nose against her cheek. God, they were so adorable Lydia wanted to throw up. And cry.

To his credit, Stiles had barely batted an eyelid at the news. “And Allison?” Stiles asked, one eyebrow raising. She closed her eyes, he knew her so well; he had known that something was off.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, considering several very plausible lies in her head.

But in the end, the truth felt unavoidable.

Allison, Scott, Stiles… together with Lydia, they’d been through hell together. And they deserved at _least_ the truth.

She could barely look at Scott and Allison in the doorway, and Stiles next to her. Instead she chose to focus on Deaton, the constant blank-faced Deaton, when she said her next words.

“Allison’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Scallison reminds me of how freaking cute those two are.. Gaah now I'm having scallison feels. Anyway, you might be confused, but things will be explained in the next chapter and setting up for the rest of the story. Things are not all as they seem ;) If you liked this chapter or have pointers, I would love if you left a comment. In any case, thanks for continuing reading!


	3. choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack tries to figure out what's going on.

There was dead silence. Dead silence in the entire house, actually. Nosy werewolves were likely listening in.

“Dead?” Scott said in a small voice, and Lydia felt terrible for bearing this information, because she knew how absolutely wrecked Scott had been after Allison’s death firsthand, and how much he had loved her.

Finally, something managed to shock Stiles. His mouth was agape. “Dead?” he asked, “As in… _dead_ , dead? Or… like, Peter Hale dead?”

She swallowed thickly. “Dead, dead. The Oni,” she whispered. Now that it was out, it didn’t feel so bad to say. Allison was alive and well in front of her, after all.

“The Oni?” said Scott incredulously. “But… Allison killed the last Oni.”

Several pieces clicked into place. “You were possessed by the Nogitsune,” she realized. “Not Stiles.” Which meant Scott hadn’t ordered the Oni to kill Allison… of course he wouldn’t…

She immediately felt terrible for thinking that. She knew it hadn’t been Stiles’ fault. He had loved Allison in his own way, too. But the nogitsune didn’t.

Something else occurred to her. If Stiles and Scott were switched around, then maybe the same thing applied here…“Then… who died?” Lydia asked, a dread filling her.

 “Aiden died,” Allison finally supplied, voice tentative.

She scrubbed her face with frustration. “Yes, I know he died, I remember _that_. Did anyone else die? Derek? Jackson? Peter?”

“We wish,” Stiles muttered. Everyone ignored him.

“No,” Scott answered for her.

She frowned. That didn’t seem right. Every other decision in this reality appeared to be balanced with her own version in some way or another. “I don’t understand what’s going on,” she said.

“I think I might,” Deaton finally spoke slowly . Everyone looked at him. “Have you heard of what’s called the multiverse, Lydia?”

Lydia almost huffed at what was dangerously close to an insult to her intelligence. “Of course, the multiverse,” Lydia recalled. “The physics theory that there are multiple universes. Infinite, even.”

Deaton nodded. “Correct, as always. Now, there are some who say there may be infinite universes. And that for every choice we make, there is another universe where we made the opposite or a different choice, and as a result, that universe is different.”

“Like, a parallel universe?” Allison asked.

“Sort of,” Deaton said with a slight smile. “The idea of infinite universes is science fiction, really. At least, up until now.”

“A choice like what?” Scott said.

 “Every small or large choice, be it to buy a bagel instead of a sandwich or to declare war on Germany,” Deaton said. “Spawns a different universe. Who knows how life-changing any given decision could be?” When Stiles scoffed, he said, “I’m serious. Who knows who you might have met on your way to the bakery that could change your life? Every choice changes your life, whether you realize it or not.”

There was a pause where everyone just tried to absorb the gravity of Deaton’s words.

“So… there’s a universe where Derek chooses not to be a dick?” Stile shook his head. “Man, I’d like to visit _that_ one.”

Lydia was still trying to catch up with Deaton. “So you think the witch sent me here? To a different universe?”

“It’s just a theory.”

 “So… if that’s true, what was the different choice someone made?” Allison asked quietly.

Another long pause.

 Then, Deaton looked straight at Lydia. “I believe you are from a universe where Peter Hale chose to bite Scott McCall instead of Stiles Stilinski on that fateful night in the woods, and as a result, everything is a _little bit different_.”

“I’m a werewolf, and I let Allison die?” Scott looked crushed. Allison stroked a soothing hand down his arm.

“And me and Lydia aren’t a couple,” Stiles mumbled, finally putting everything together, and Lydia had to look away from his gaze. But they _were_ together… here, at least…

Oh no.

“Wait a second… if I’m Lydia from a different universe,” Lydia said slowly, “then where the _hell_ did the Lydia from this one go?”

* * *

 

UNIVERSE 1.0

Stiles was not having a good day.

He was sitting on Lydia’s bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and scrubbing his hands through his hair, idly wondering when everything had gone so wrong.

The adjoining bathroom door opened, and he looked up.

Lydia stood in the doorway, staring at him. Lips parted. Eyebrows furrowed. One hand subconsciously touching the ring finger of her other hand. Stiles stared right back.

The silence was thick.

Finally Lydia spoke. “This is really weird.”

Stiles couldn’t agree more.

TWELVE HOURS AGO

First of all, a witch- called herself ‘Kalku’ or something- came out of nowhere to terrorize Beacon Hills; because apparently, this town had a quota or something of supernatural beings that needed to come terrorize Beacon Hills in a given year. Then said witch had been confronted by the pack while she was trying to draw power from the Nemeton, which she had somehow gotten to even after all the heavy protection Deaton and Stiles had put around it (seriously, they needed to burn that thing down).

Stiles had told her to “step away from the giant tree spirit, ma’am,” in his most authoritative voice, but she had declined.

And then things had gotten ugly.

And at some point Lydia had gotten into the fray and blasted Kalku with her freaky banshee powers, and everyone had paused because it seemed like the first thing that actually _affected_ the witch.

Kalku had hissed in pain; “You’ve just outlived your usefulness, Miss Martin,” before flinging out her hand and a blast of white light had hit Lydia square in the chest and _god_ , had he ever been more afraid in his life?

And he’d ran towards her, skidding to a stop at her body lying on the ground, heart beating far too fast, and he dimly heard Scott yelling that Kalku was gone but…

Lydia had opened her eyes. And Stiles had exhaled shakily in relief. All was well.

At least, until she started talking.

She’d been freaking out, something about going to sleep and waking up here, and everyone supposed she’d hit her head or something, especially after Scott, the resident veterinarian/werewolf, had examined her and announced nothing was medically wrong. Then it had been up to Stiles to drive her to her apartment, and she was freaking out again.

“This isn’t our place,” she said. “Where are we, Stiles?”

He was puzzled. Turning to look at her with one hand still on the steering wheel, he cocked his eyebrow at her. “Uh, yeah, it’s not our place, it’s your place,” he replied.

She stared through the window. “What are you talking about? I live with you,” she said resolutely, gripping her seat very tightly with her small hands. “I’m dreaming still, aren’t I? Dreaming that we’re not together. That we’re not engaged.”

His heart may or may not have jumped out of his chest. Engaged?! “Whoa there, Lydia,” he joked to hide his internal freakout. “At least take me out to dinner or something first?”

“Dream,” she muttered again, not seeming to notice his words.

Stiles couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. Lydia was in some sort of trance thinking they were a couple; even though he’d told himself he’d gotten over it years ago, the thought still made his heart seize, and the universe was _definitely_ rubbing it in. “Lydia, if anyone’s dreaming right now, it’s- it’s definitely me.” He rubbed a hand over his face, leaning on the steering wheel. “Look, this is your place, okay? Just trust me.” Maybe she’d be okay in the morning.

She stared out the windshield for a long moment, that big brain of hers likely thinking out all possible scenarios. “Drive,” she said finally, and Stiles made a face.

“What –”

“Drive,” she repeated, quickly listing off an address that she clearly knew by heart. He recognized it- an apartment building downtown.

He could tell she was serious. “Um… are we going to find a dead body?” he ventured tentatively, putting the keys into the ignition.

She stared at him for a long moment before she spoke, enunciating her words. “I’m going to find a place to hide _your_ dead body in a moment if you don’t start driving right. Now.”

He gulped theatrically at her low, threatening tone and put the Jeep in drive. “You got it.” He was not the least bit turned on. Not even a little.

He kept glancing through his peripheral vision at her as they drove. She looked anxious, biting her lip and looking down at her hands every few seconds. _She’s counting_ , he realized. _She’s counting her fingers_.

The notion broke his heart. He remembered all too well the absolute torture that it was to never be sure whether you were awake.

“We’re here, stop,” Lydia commanded, and startled from thought, Stiles jerked to a stop in the middle of the road. Before he could even think to reverse and park on the side, Lydia had already gotten out of the vehicle. She’d left the door hanging open.

“Hey wait,” he began, but she was already walking away towards the tall apartment building, face turned up to the cool night sky. He looked around hastily. The roads were abandoned; after all, it was just after 3 am. “Ah, screw it,” he muttered, pulling his keys out of the ignition, hopping out of the Jeep and dashing after Lydia.

When he caught up with her, she was standing on the manicured grass, looking up at the endless rows of windows of the building, and her brow was furrowed in thought. He looked up too. Nothing too special about windows. The only thing that really caught his eye was the “CALL OWNER FOR RENT” sign in one particular window near the top.

“You looking into real estate, Lydia?” he asked. “It’s a good investment.” He glanced back at her, but her eyes seemed glazed over.

Hey. What now? Her eyes were _wet_. Tears. They shone clearly, even against the dark.

He instantly turned towards her, grasping her arms with his hands. “Lyds. Lyds? What’s wrong?” He sounded frantic but he didn’t care. “Lydia, talk to me.” He didn’t know what to do; he moved his hands to her cheeks, caressing her face lightly in an attempt to get her to respond.

She finally seemed to shake out of it. She closed her eyes for a long minute, and he waited with bated breath before she looked at him again and her eyes were dry and cold. “You were mentioning a witch did something to me?”

He swallowed thickly. “I can assure you that you are not, in fact, dreaming,” Stiles said, “but I think Kalku might have screwed with your head beyond just knocking you out.”

She stared at the ground, thinking, before she lifted her head. “That’s our apartment.”

He knew he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Sorry?”

“That’s our apartment,” she insisted, pointing up at that window. “That’s where we live. You and me.”

He stared at her and she stared at him until she said, “Call a pack meeting.”

He was already digging his phone out of his back pocket, nodding vigorously. Because this was too weird and if he was by himself around a Lydia that thought she was into him, this would only end badly. “I’ll get Scott to round ‘em up first thing tomorrow. Well, today.”

She gave him a strange look. “Why wouldn’t _you_ do it?”

Stiles stared back at her with an equally strange look. “Because… Scott always calls pack meetings?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“ _Yes_ , he does.”

“He doesn’t. You do.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

Stiles raked his hands through his hair in frustration. “No, he – ” he stopped. This was ridiculous. He and Lydia always found the most fucking _mundane_ things to argue about in the least opportune of situations. “Look, I don’t know what universe you’re living in, but last time I checked, I’m not the alpha werewolf, so – ”

“What?” said Lydia, frowning.

He stared at her, utterly bewildered. By everything. “Are you joking?” When she didn’t respond, he put his hands up, gesticulating wildly. “I get my ass beat on the regular, of course I’m not a fucking _werewolf_.” He was really getting a bad feeling about this. Kalku had really done a number on her and he was going to _strangle_ that witch the next time their paths crossed.

“You’re not a werewolf?” she repeated with disbelief.

He let his hands fall by his side and stared at her. Even sarcasm eluded him right now. “Lydia, as you _know_ , I’m human.” His voice sounded pitiful, even to him; the implication that he was the weakest link in the pack rang clear in his own voice. He squared his jaw and repeated it, this time voice stronger. “I’m _human_.”

She absorbed this information and then looked up with new determination in her eyes. “I think you need to get Scott to call that pack meeting _now_.”

* * *

 

PRESENT

“Tell me about it,” he groaned. “So – we believe Deaton? About the whole different plane of existence thing? Multiverses?” This was so ridiculous. “I just _knew_ there was something evil about physics.”

She crossed her arms, remaining in the doorway. “It’s the only thing we have to go on.”

He rubbed his face and leaned back on her bed, feeling exhausted. He hadn’t slept all night. At that moment he noticed Lydia watching him. Or more accurately, watching his arms as he rubbed his face. What on earth…

And when he got it he instantly stilled. She seemed to realize he had noticed and blushed slightly before averting her gaze.

Oh sweet baby jesus.

Lydia Martin had been checking him out.

He supposed people who were actually living with each other were probably in the habit of doing that, but he wouldn’t really know. This was going to kill him. It was honestly going to kill him. This Lydia found him attractive, for whatever reason, and the universe(s) definitely had it out for him.

“So- so, in this universe of yours,” Lydia said loudly to overpower the awkward silence. “You’re… a human.” Her voice sounded unsure, like she was reiterating this to herself as a reminder.

He tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Yep.”

“Scott’s a werewolf.”

“He’s more of a puppy, but yeah.”

“Allison…” her voice was thick and he wished she would stop staring at him. “Allison is dead.”

He stared off into a space on her wall. “Nogitsune. It was my fault.”

She peered at him. “What?”

“It was my fault, _my_ fault,” he repeated angrily, anything to get her to stop looking at him like that, like she _loved_ him, because her gaze was fucking unbearable.

He remembered, suddenly, a flashback to fifth grade, when he’d talked incessantly about Lydia Martin, and Jackson Whittemore had scoffed, sneering at him, “In what universe would she like _you_?” He’d never had an answer to that.

Well, fuck you, Jackson.

He closed his eyes at the silence that had followed his outburst. “Look, it doesn’t matter now. We need to figure out how to undo whatever Kalku did to switch you two.” He yawned.

“Are you tired?” Lydia asked quietly, approaching him.

“Yeah,” he muttered. In fact, he felt dead on his feet. “I’m sure you are too, so I- I’m just going to go…”

He was halfway to the door when she said, “Stay.”

He stilled, hand frozen on the doorknob, not daring to turn around.

“I mean,” she quickly amended. “If you want to. I…” A hint of vulnerability entered her voice. “I don’t really feel like being alone right now.”

He stared at the door, milling over the possibility quickly in his mind while his heart thundered in his ears. But in the end, it was the fact that Lydia wanted him there that made him suddenly shuck off his jacket and turn around. Just in time to see her eyes quickly go back up to his face.

He pretended not to notice.

“Okay,” he said, and his voice sounded unusually raspy. “Yeah. Um. Let’s do that.”

It was late afternoon and the sun was still peeking out, so Lydia drew the curtains and slipped onto one side of the bed. When Stiles didn’t move, she gave a little huff of amusement and patted the space next to her. “I won’t bite.” She bit her lip, something seeming to occur to her. “You’re not… _with_ someone, are you?”

“What?” he said, blanking out. “Oh, no, of course not,” he said dismissively, then realizing he sounded like a complete loser, amending, “I mean, not that I couldn’t be if I didn’t want to, I just –”

“Alright, alright, get in bed, lady-killer,” Lydia snickered, rolling over so her voice was muffled in the pillow.

Way to go, Stiles, he silently congratulated himself on his own stupidity as he clambered into bed after her and pulled the blankets over both of their bodies.

They lay in silence for a while and Stiles now felt completely fucking awake, great- when Lydia spoke again. “Am… am _I_ with anybody?”

“How would I know?” he said irritably. “Probably? You’re always screwing _someone_.” He immediately regretted the harsh words the moment they came out of his mouth, and even more so when she stiffened beside him.

There was a thick silence. God, he hated his big mouth sometimes. He never wanted to be _that_ guy.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized genuinely. “That’s…” he shook his head. “That’s _so_ not even my place.”

She huffed. “I’m glad you realize that.”

Stiles stared up at the ceiling and after a minute of awkwardness, decided he had done enough damage for the day. He sat upright and threw the covers off of himself. “You know what, I think I actually _am_ just going to leave, to avoid being even more of a dick to you than I already have been, so…” Lydia turned on her back to stare at him as he gestured to the door. “I’m just gonna hope I crash on the way home and die in a fiery accident to avoid ever looking you in the face again.” He was aware he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed his jacket.

“Stiles.”

“Hmm.”

“I accept your apology.”

He swallowed, not looking in her direction. “You don’t have to. You shouldn’t.”

“But I do,” she replied, and her voice was exceedingly gentle for Lydia Martin, so he turned around and dared to look her in the eye. “Come back to bed.”

He let those words wash over him because he was sure he was never going to hear them again from her throaty voice. “Yeah. Alright.” He threw his jacket back on the chair and slipped back in under the covers.

He turned on his side so he was facing her back and spoke softly to her crown of strawberry blonde hair. “I’m really sorry.”

“I know. You can stop apologizing.”

“Is the Stiles you’re engaged to less of a dick than me?” The words were out before he could stop them.

Her shoulders shook with a little laugh, and he wished suddenly that he could see her face. The way her green eyes crinkled up and her mouth widened into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. “No. Unless it’s the full moon, then he tends to be more of a dick.” She sighed. “You’re exactly like him, otherwise.”

“You’re exactly like _her_ ,” he replied. It was true. Partly why all of this was so confusing.

But he heard the yearning in her voice. She’d been here something like twelve hours and she was missing her world. And he worried about _his_ Lydia, too. What was she doing? Was she okay? “We’ll get you back there,” he promised in a whisper. “We’ll kick Kalku’s ass. And then you and your Stiles are gonna get married and have babies and send me inter-dimensional postcards so I can live vicariously through him.” He tried not to feel jealous of the other Stiles as he said this. Unsuccessfully.

She giggled. “Alright. I guess you have a little crush on me here too, then.”

“ _Crush_?” he echoed, dubious, because that word was so trivial, so _unworthy_ to describe the overwhelming lightness that rushed through him when he thought of her. “You could say that.”

A small pause. “Oh.” Then, tentatively: “Does she not feel that way about you?”

“Nah,” Stiles said, “She never has. It’s okay, though.” His voice sounded a lot more over it than he really ever felt. “I just want her to be happy, and all that cheesy stuff. And as long as she’s around, that’s enough, you know?” That part at least, was true.

“Hmm,” murmured Lydia, not sounding entirely convinced.

“Anyway,” Stiles said, finally feeling himself drifting off, “tomorrow… or, you know, a week from now, whenever we wake up…” she laughed sleepily, “we have to find that witch.”

“And I think I have an idea about how I can get back to my universe,” Lydia drowsily whispered back. “I’ll tell you later.”

He nuzzled his nose against her hair, barely aware of what he was doing since he was half asleep. He didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath though. “You little genius,” he mumbled with pride.

She didn’t respond, already in the throes of sleep. Which was why Stiles mouthed, “Love you,” against her hair before he, too, drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this wasn't the most interesting chapter but I promise more action-packed updates are on the way. Also, I promise we won't be switching universes as much later. It's just for now, while Stiles and Lydia are separated ;)  
> So please let me know what you think! *blows kisses* Love you guys!


	4. witch hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the Alternate Universe, Lydia brings a few things to light that the group wasn't previously aware of. The pack tries to decide how to the confront the witch in this universe, knowing what they now know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My classes are kicking my ass, but I still got this chapter done in a reasonable amount of time I think, especially considering how long it ended up being :P Enjoy the Scott/Stiles/Allison/Lydia dynamic feels!  
> (ALSO: Did you guys see 5x04 !!!! Oh my Stydia heart is singing.)

**UNIVERSE 237**

“Okay,” said Allison, “so now that we’ve established that our Lydia’s have been switched, what now?”

During the long talk that had ensued after Lydia brought up the possibility of being switched, the rest of the pack had slowly drifted upstairs and were now perched on various surfaces in Allison and Scott’s bedroom.

Isaac paused in curiously sniffing a bottle of Allison’s perfume to look up. “Try and switch them back?”

“But how would we even do that?” Kira pointed out, folding her arms. “The witch did it, anyway.”

“So- so, maybe then,” Stiles said, sitting up beside her on the bed, “maybe we just have to find the witch in this universe, and get her to put everything back to normal.”

His tone was hopeful, but Lydia couldn’t help but scoff. “It won’t be that simple.”

“It never is,” Deaton said thoughtfully. “What do you know about the witch, Lydia?”

She sighed. No sense in hiding anything now. “Her name is Kalku,” she said. “Her real name, anyway. She was going under an alias before she revealed herself.”

“Alias being?” Deaton prompted.

“Morgan Lefebvre,” she replied. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Allison reel back with shock, but didn’t have time to address it before Stiles spoke up.

“ _Morgan Lefebvre_?” He repeated incredulously. “And you guys couldn’t figure out that there might be something suspicious about someone who’s name sounds like one of the most well known witches of all time?”

She gave him an annoyed look. “We might’ve, if we even knew there was a witch in Beacon Hills in the first place,” she shot back. “But we didn’t. Deaton even said, witches are rare and powerful, but mostly rare.” She looked at Deaton and he nodded with a slight smile on his face.

“That’s pretty accurate of my knowledge on the subject.”

“Go on, Lydia,” Scott prodded gently, ever patient. “What else?”

She cleared her throat. “Right. Well, she was a new teacher at the high school.”

“Wait, let me guess,” Stiles spoke, putting one hand up. “Chemistry.”

She felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. “Correct.” He muttered something that sounded like “should’ve been the biggest hint” but she ignored him. “We were friends.”

The room exploded with a chorus of “Whaaat?”

She rolled her eyes internally at their drama. “She wasn’t evil sounding, really. She was nice, in fact.” She cleared her throat. “I only knew her for a few weeks, but she was only trying to make me let down my guard; I realize that now. We went for a walk and we went through the part of the forest that we’d set up barriers against for the supernatural- ”

“Lydia,” Stiles groaned. “You led her right to the Nemeton? Right through all the protection that we put up so that no supernatural except people who were with us could get through?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Allison said, shooting him a look. Lydia smirked; she really, really missed Allison. “Sometimes you trust people that you really shouldn’t have. We get it,” she said, shooting a reassuring glance at Lydia. “And besides, humans can pass through our barriers just fine.”

“Exactly,” Lydia said with a shrug. “I never got any vibes off of her. Anyway,” she said loudly, “That’s when she revealed herself, and that’s how we got where we are right now.”

“But this witch hasn’t revealed herself in this universe,” Deaton mused. “Why?”

“I don’t think we should sit around to find out,” Malia piped up from the corner of the room, slamming her fist into her other palm. “I say we find her and deal with her now.”

Everyone made noises of agreement.

Scott looked up from scrolling through his phone. “She’s on the high school’s website. ‘Morgan Lefebvre’. She’s new, just started a few months ago. We should go talk to her.”

“Lydia introduced her to me, a few weeks back,” Allison spoke finally. “I knew she and her were friends.”

“In this universe, too?” Liam rubbed his hand over his eyes. “This is too confusing.” Lydia was inclined to agree.

“Just remember to be careful,” Deaton cautioned. “There’s no telling what she’ll do, but if she’s anything like the one in the other universe, she’s dangerous.”

“So are we,” Stiles countered, grinning with his fangs. If the collective sigh of the room to this display of power was anything to go by, he liked to show off.

Malia cracked her knuckles. “So alright, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

“No,” Lydia said, and everyone turned to look at her. “What?” she said, shrugging. “It’s night time.”

“All the better to sneak up on her,” Cora piped up, eyebrows raised.

Stiles offered her a sour look, apparently not having forgiven her quite yet for insinuating Lydia was evil. “Um, no.” He then turned to Lydia. “So, _why_ aren’t we charging in right now, again?”

Lydia managed to stifle her smile and replied, “Look, we’re friends here too, right?” Everyone nodded along. “So if we go to her like we don’t know anything, then it could be beneficial for us. We could at least get a sense of what we’re dealing with. Get the upper hand.”

There was some quiet nodding. Stiles clapped his hands over her shoulders. “I like the way you think, you evil genius,” he said, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Okay, so tomorrow we outwit the good Mrs. Lefebvre.”

“Ms,” Lydia automatically corrected.

“What?” He said, confused.

“ _Ms_. Lefebvre,” Lydia elaborated. “She said her husband died.”

Stiles sighed loudly. “Lydia. Who cares about her cover story? She’s not the person you knew.”

Lydia knew that, rationally. But it was _difficult_.

“It’s settled then,” Deaton said after a pause. “Truly though, be careful. She’s a witch that sent you into a different universe, Lydia. There’s no telling what else she could do. Keep that in mind.”

There was a heavy silence.

“Alright,” said Allison, clapping her hands together, and the tension evaporated. “So… I had tacos ready if anyone wants them?”

What kind of question was that, Lydia thought with amusement as a room full of supernatural creatures whooped and jumped up, ready to follow Allison to the kitchen like she was the Pied Piper.

Allison winked at Lydia before turning to lead them off, and Stiles had somehow managed to restrain himself from leaping after tacos and instead wrapped his arm around Lydia. “Want tacos?” he said, looking at her through his lashes.

She couldn’t stop the happy laugh that bubbled in her stomach. “Whatever,” she said primly. He jumped up like it was Christmas and tugged her up with his hands.

Honestly? The feeling crept up in her stomach as he lead her out of the room, but she couldn’t stop it. _She could get used to this_.

* * *

 

Lydia woke up the next morning with a smile on her face. She blinked a few times to get her bearings.

She was lying on the couch in Allison and Scott’s living room, with Allison right beside her. Their legs were tangled together. She supposed they must have fallen asleep like this, and smiled.

The evening had been amazing. After the details were sorted out, and the tacos had all been devoured, everyone had cleared out of the house except Stiles and Lydia. Stiles and Scott had disappeared off to do something inane and boyish, Lydia was sure, while Allison and Lydia caught up on the most mundane of things in the kitchen and then, with glasses of wine in hand, drifted to the living room as the night wore on. The topics had been kept light, avoiding all mentions of alternate universes, while Lydia eagerly questioned Allison on what she was doing in her life. Allison’s stories of high school graduation, college parties they’d gone to together and Scott’s clumsy proposal, and Lydia as maid of honour at her wedding, among other things, had kept Lydia in tears.

Tears of both laughter and sadness. Because _oh_ , what could have been.

Lydia had kept waiting for Stiles to appear and say that it was time to go home, but it quickly became clear that nights over were a usual thing in this universe. After all, Allison was Lydia’s best friend and Scott Stiles’, so she really shouldn’t be surprised. But she couldn’t help but think it wasn’t something that really would happen in her universe. Kira was nice, and the two were genuine and close friends, but Lydia had always known, somewhere deep down inside, that no one would be able to quite take Allison’s place. And besides, Kira and Scott weren’t even close to getting married or even moving in together. They’d simply been dating for some time now. And Lydia now couldn’t help but think it was because Scott saw things the same way as her; nobody would ever quite be able to take Allison’s place.

The thought made her unnecessarily sad, so she untangled herself from Allison- her friend hardly even stirred- and made her way upstairs, looking for Stiles and Scott.

She found them in what looked to be an empty bedroom next to Allison and Scott’s; one with no furniture except for a desktop computer parked on one side, a printer on the other, and a green bean bag chair in between.

She smiled at the sight. It felt like something straight out of high school.

Scott, slumped in the bean bag chair with his arms dangling off the sides and his head lolling on his neck at an awkward angle.

Stiles, limbs thrown haphazardly all over the place as usual; lying stomach down with his face resting on his hands and one leg sprawled on Scott’s lap.

And the scene in front of her; the computer on sleep mode, with papers strewn all over the floor and particularly in a pile underneath the printer. The boys had been doing some research.

She walked over and nudged Stiles gently in the arm with her foot. No response whatsoever, so she nudged him a little harder.

He finally stirred a little, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “fuck off”.

She kicked him in the leg. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

He lifted his head, blinking blearily with eyes that were amber as the morning light hit them. “Wha…? Oh, Lyds… Sorry, I thought you were Scott,” he said drowsily. Lydia huffed.

By now, Scott was stirring as well, but clearly more awake than Stiles. “What the hell man? You would just tell me to fuck off?”

Stiles muttered “I’m telling you right now, fuck off,” nearly unintelligibly, lowering his head again onto the carpet.

Scott stretched languidly in the chair. “Oh, that’s _it_ , buddy,” he yawned. “Say it again, I’m going to get Allison to put mountain ash in the next taco you eat.”

“Fuck off,” Stiles said, enunciating his words impressively clearly for someone who looked like they were still in REM sleep.

“Alright, you two,” Lydia said with amusement and enjoying this far too much. “We have work to do.”

Scott stood up, stretching and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Oh man, it’s already nine? I’m going to be late for my clinic shift.”

“I’m pretty sure she was talking about confronting an evil witch, not your lame job,” Stiles said, finally starting to clamber up from his position on the floor.

“At least I’m not unemployed,” Scott tossed back good-naturedly as he passed Lydia to enter the hall, smiling lopsidedly at her with a “’morning” before disappearing into his own bedroom.

“Hey!” Stiles complained loudly. “I have a degree in criminology, it’s not _my_ fault the economy sucks!” Scott didn’t answer, or maybe he didn’t hear.

Stiles was taking his sweet time stretching, so Lydia kneeled to the floor to pick up one of the sheets of paper that had fluttered down from the printer through the commotion.

She scanned it with a critical eye. “You two spent all night Googling multiverses, didn’t you?” she said pointedly with a raised eyebrow, grabbing the next paper. “You could have just asked me. Would’ve saved you time.”

“Whatever,” Stiles yawned. “The point is, we read up, and I now know more about string theory than I would wish on anyone.”

Lydia dropped the sheet and reached for another, expecting more of the same. Instead, it was a printed out Wikipedia article with the title _Kalku_.

Stiles came up behind her. “Yeah, apparently Kalkus are some sort of dark witch in Mapuche mythology. Did you know _that_ , Lydia?”

Lydia didn’t answer his teasing question, flipping over the page. “What else did you find on this?”

“Next to nothing,” he sighed. “That vague Wikipedia article is pretty much the biggest source of information on Kalkus. Once again, the internet has failed me.”

“Great,” Lydia replied drily, letting the paper drift to the floor and making note to read it later. “Now, do we want to get going?”

He grinned at her, his cheesy grin that somehow still made her heart skip a beat. “Anything the princess wants.”

And that was how, a good two hours later, Stiles’ Jeep pulled up at Beacon Hills High School, carrying Lydia, Allison, Malia, Liam, Mason (who just really loved “a good stakeout” and insisted on coming along even when everyone kept repeating that it wasn’t a stakeout) and the good driver himself.

Stiles spent a moment surveying the area and the teenagers running around in the bright Californian sunshine with an expression of utmost distaste before finally turning off the engine. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s just get this over with. Maybe if we’re lucky, we won’t run into Coach in the hall.”

“Wait,” Lydia said.

“What.”

“Me and Allison will go in first, since she knows us. See if we can get any vibes off her.”

Stiles exhaled, running a hand over his face. “That’s your master plan? Leave all the werewolves in the car and see if you get any ‘vibes’ before she blasts your head off with her mystical powers?”

Stiles certainly had a knack for making even the most well-laid plans sound stupid, and this was definitely not a good plan. But Lydia’s curiosity was overpowering everything else. “Just stay in the car,” she ordered, hopping out. Allison shrugged and followed. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Stiles.”

Malia poked her head out of the window, looking just as anxious as Stiles. “We’ll be listening. You need help, you yell, yeah?”

Lydia nodded, cast one last look at an uneasy Stiles, and marched up the walkway with Allison in tow.

The hallways were relatively quiet as Lydia’s heels click-clacked down them.

“How do you know her anyway?” Allison asked quietly behind her. “You never said.”

“I was giving a seminar at the college, she was in the audience and had questions afterwards,” Lydia replied dismissively. “We hit it off. Or so I thought,” she added darkly.

Allison made an amused sound. “Okay, but really, what are we even going to say?” When Lydia didn’t reply, she pressed, “Lydia, have you even _slightly_ thought this through?”

No, Lydia thought. Her steps quickened. She knew Morgan’s classroom by heart.

The door. There it was. Lydia swallowed, reaching for the handle. Moment of truth… Allison was holding her breath behind her.

She pursed her lips and swung the door open.

A class of thirty instantly swiveled their heads in their direction. In the midst of them, Lydia recognized Pav, a skinny, brown-skinned werewolf who was a new addition to the pack. He raised his eyebrows at her but Lydia ignored him for the time being, focusing on the back of the tall blonde pausing in the midst of writing equilibrium tables on the chalkboard.

Morgan Lefebvre turned around, one perfectly penciled eyebrow arched. “I’m teaching,” she said, a funny look crossing her face.

“Oh,” was all Lydia managed to get out, because she just looked so _ordinary_ , like the woman she’d befriended so many months ago, and not like a scheming supernatural creature.

She felt sort of frozen in place, standing there dumbly under the fluorescent lights, at least until Allison quickly stepped up, saying “We’ll come back…”

“During lunch,” Morgan replied, voice clipped. “In a half hour.”

“Right,” Allison nodded and grabbed Lydia’s arm to tow her out of the classroom. When the door had shut closed behind them and the scratching of chalk against the board resumed, Allison rounded on Lydia. “So you really did have no plan whatsoever, didn’t you.”

Lydia shook her head, mouth not seeming to want to form coherent sentences. “I just…”

Allison stared at her, brow furrowing as she seemed to come to an understanding. “You wanted to see. If she was the person that you knew.”

Lydia nodded mutely. “I just…” she threw her hands up, “It’s just so confusing,” she admitted. “Being in two universes.” She wondered how the other Lydia was faring. Probably not well, considering she thought she was engaged to Stiles and that her best friend was alive. Lydia cringed just thinking about the awkwardness of such a situation.

Allison put a hand on her shoulder after a minute of silence. “I get it,” she said softly. And then Allison looked a little awkward, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to say it without being tactless.

Lydia was tired of tact. “Spit it out,” she told her best friend firmly.

Allison’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Lydia, you said that in your universe I’m dead… so Scott…” she swallowed. “How is Scott?” And she peered at Lydia with a heartbreaking worry and concern for a man that technically, she had never met.

But things were _so much_ more complicated than that, weren’t they?

“Scott is fine,” Lydia said gently, choosing to omit some of the gloomier details of his heartbreak. “He… it wasn’t good, for a while… but he hasn’t dwelled.”

“And… and is he happy?” Allison asked quietly.

Lydia knew what she was really asking, and she wasn’t sure if she should really be saying this but it came out of her mouth anyway. “He’s dating Kira,” she said finally. “He’s grown to love her too, I think.”

Allison took that in with a nod and an admirable poker face. “They’ve dated here too, a little bit.” Her tone was flat.

Lydia pursed her lips, wanting to reassure her, because she could read Allison too, even after all this time. “He’ll always love you with a special part of him that I don’t think will ever change, Allison. The only thing that is different is that he’s let himself be happy anyway. He knows that’s what you would have wanted for him.”

Allison smiled then, and it broke over her face and her dimples were out full force and her eyes a little watery. “That’s _all_ I ever wanted for him.”

Lydia nodded, casting her eyes away from the emotion in Allison’s eyes. Scott and Allison had always had a love so pure, so unrelenting, so _unconditional_ that it was hard for anyone to imagine. It was something Lydia had spent time fantasizing about for herself, but not something she had ever experienced. She had always been envious of what the two had had. At least, until it had been taken away and Scott’s absolute despair made her think maybe it was best that she didn’t have it.

Something so strong would only hurt more when it was taken away.

“And what about you?” Allison’s voice broke through her thoughts. Lydia blinked a few times to see Allison wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What about me?”

“You and Stiles, in your universe.”

Lydia almost choked. “Um, no.” And then, it was out of her mouth before she could stop it. “I’m with Jordan.”

Allison’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “You’re engaged to Parrish?!”

“ _No_ ,” Lydia nearly yelled at just the thought, a thought that gave her an inexplicable panic just thinking about it. “Of course not. We’re just dating. Casually. Sort of.”

“Screwing,” Allison supplied sagely.

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure.”

Allison’s tone was one of disapproval, and Lydia gave her friend a raised eyebrow. “So what’s wrong with it if that’s all it is? Can’t a girl have a little sexual freedom in this oppressive patriarchal society?” she said primly, folding her arms.

Allison leaned against a locker nonchalantly. “Well of course, but I just assumed since you keep eye-fucking Stiles that there was something there.”

This time Lydia inhaled sharply, unable to stop herself and her heart from beating too fast. “I- I’m not-”

“Lydia, I love you, but don’t lie to yourself,” Allison said a little bit too loudly. “Yesterday you looked like you wanted to climb him like a tree.”

Lydia abandoned pretense. Okay, so maybe she’d _sort of_ been eye-fucking Stiles. She rubbed her arms. “It’s not like that in my universe. I think maybe because I’m in this Lydia’s body, that I’m just having the same physical reaction to him as she would,” she lied. It was a good lie. It made sense. And who knows, maybe that was part of it. She could rationalize it this way.

Allison studied her a moment but then seemed to buy it, shrugging. “So you don’t like Stiles in your universe?”

“No,” Lydia said firmly.

“Never dated?”

“No.”

“But he likes you.” It was a statement, not a question.

Lydia didn’t dignify that with an answer. Stiles’ crush on her had never really changed anything. It wasn’t her duty to date someone just because they liked her. No, she had grown to like him out of her own accord, and against her better judgement. “He’s just my friend.” A friend that she would definitely not mind climbing like a tree, her mind added, unbidden.

Luckily, the bell rang just then, before Allison could interrogate her any further. The two pushed off the row of lockers as doors burst open simultaneously down the hall and teens desperate for reprieve streamed out, hooting and yelling.

“I feel so old,” Allison commented with a giggle as they fought against the tide going towards the front doors.

“Tell me about it,” Lydia said with a grin, and then they were back in Lefebvre’s class, and Morgan was grinning at them through her red lipstick-coated lips.

“Well hello, Lydia and Allison, are you going to take me out to lunch?” she asked, snapping her purse shut on her desk. “It would be much appreciated. Tenth graders aren’t the easiest people to deal with, even on the best of days.”

“Yes,” Lydia blurted. Allison shot her a funny look; this hadn’t been part of the half-baked plan at all. Lydia was just making it up as she went along, though, so it didn’t matter. “Yes, let’s do that.” She was finding it a little difficult to look into Morgan’s eyes. All she could think about was those baby-blues turning a strange shade of red- not warm like true alpha irises- but the entire eye, the whole entire thing, turning a blaring red as Morgan had turned on her-

She mentally shook herself. Different universe. She didn’t have to worry about that here. Morgan wouldn’t hurt her until she got the Nemeton. There was no need to panic. So why was her heart beating a million miles a minute?

She took a few deep breaths while Allison engaged Morgan in idle conversation as the teacher packed her things. She could hardly hear what they were even saying. Allison hadn’t seen it. Allison hadn’t seen someone she thought she could trust trying to…

The door opened, and Stiles pushed through, eyes wide. “Lydia, are you-” He stopped at the scene in front of him. Morgan and Allison looked up from their discussion, and Lydia leant heavily against a desk. She attempted a weak smile at him for Morgan’s benefit while shooting dagger eyes at him. _I thought I told you to stay in the car_.

Stiles hardly quailed at her hard gaze, looking unrepentant. “Sorry, I just- ”

“Lydia,” Morgan cut through, her voice amused, “Is this your fiancé?”

“My fiancé?” Lydia squeaked.

“The fiancé that you have failed to introduce me to, time and time again, even though you can’t stop talking about him,” Morgan elaborated with a slight smile that was too familiar for Lydia to handle. “Is this him?”

Stiles cut in, thankfully. “It is I,” he said with a cheeky grin. He offered a hand to shake, but not before Lydia saw him quickly retract his claws. His demeanor was easily amicable, but Lydia knew him enough to see the quick calculation in his eyes.

Morgan took his hand, oblivious. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Stiles. I can tell you make Lydia really happy.” She leaned forward and whispered theatrically: “But if you hurt her, I’ll break your neck.” She winked.

From anyone else, this would be a joke that they would have all laughed at, but as it were, it was a little too real for everyone in the room. Stiles coughed hastily. “Yeah. I think you’d have to get in line.”

“Speaking of lines, let’s go,” Allison segued through the awkwardness that had suddenly made an appearance. “It’s the lunch rush hour.”

“Yes! Let’s,” Morgan agreed, gesturing for Lydia and Stiles to leave first, and Lydia felt no other choice except to turn for the door. Stiles guided her with a hand on her back and whispered in her ear, breath tickling her cheek. “You okay? I heard your heart beating really fast.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to listen to my heartbeat?” Lydia said with annoyance.

He looked slightly apologetic. “It’s a matter of life and death, Lydia, I think I’m allowed a little leeway.” She couldn’t argue with that, but she huffed to let him know of her disapproval anyway.

They pushed through the front doors and Stiles glanced to the side, nodding at something she couldn’t see. She turned around to look; Mason holding something in his hand, standing nonchalantly on the sidewalk some distance away between throngs of people. She frowned. What was he doing?

Mason dropped whatever he was holding- a dark powder that fell with a hush sound that Lydia could feel and hear even across the courtyard and she felt it in her bones.

Mountain ash.

When she whipped her head around, Allison and Morgan were already beside her, and Stiles was staring at the chemistry teacher, slack-jawed. Lydia felt she must look similarly shell shocked.

Mason had completed a mountain ash barrier after Stiles had walked across it, which meant any supernatural should have been trapped.

Except, Morgan had stepped over the line effortlessly. Which could mean only one thing.

 _Morgan Lefebvre… wasn’t Kalku_.

The woman in question turned, frowning, at the couple staring at her oddly. “Lydia? Stiles?” she said expectantly. “Where are we going for lunch?”

 _So who was_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, I love hearing your thoughts! Next few chapters I really think you guys are going to like ;) Things are going to be kicking up a notch after this.


	5. a matter of trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempt to bring Lydia back to the original universe goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5x05!!!! OMG!! #StilesStillLikesHer  
> Enjoy this new chapter! :)

**UNIVERSE 1.0**

“Oh my god, oh my god.”

“Stiles.”

“Oh my god, oh my _god_ , _oh my god_ , holy sh- ”

“Stiles, chill out.”

Stiles wheeled around in the middle of his agitated pacing on Scott’s bedroom floor. “Chill out? _Chill out_. How am I supposed to chill out, Scott? Do you want to fill me in?”

Scott fell back against his bed, looking decidedly chill himself. “I dunno, I just think you’re sort of overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” Stiles hissed, throwing his hands up. “The girl I’ve been in love with since _third freaking grade_ thinks she’s engaged to me. She’s _into_ me. And the most screwed up part is that she actually _is_ engaged to me. Except it’s not me. It’s me from another universe. And I am _so_ _jealous_ of me.” His words grew increasingly rapid and his gestures more wild as he continued to speak.

“All right, all right,” Scott said. “But-"

Scott’s cellphone rang.

It was on the table besides Stiles, and he reached for it but Scott quickly rolled off the bed and beat him to it (damn those werewolf reflexes).

“Hello?” Scott answered, gripping the phone with one hand as he pushed Stiles’ face away from the receiver with the other hand. “Lydia has an idea? Wants to try it? Meet at the clinic in an hour? Okay,” he said, relaying this information for Stiles’ benefit.

He ended the call and tossed his phone on the bed. Stiles jumped up nervously. “Okay. Okay. Lydia has an idea? What idea?”

Earlier, when Stiles had woken up in Lydia’s apartment totally disoriented and at a loss, he’d found himself wrapped up in Lydia. Nose pressed against her forehead, one arm around her waist and one curled around her head, and Lydia’s feet tangled up with his.

He’d thought he was having one of those dream-within-a-dreams again, but seeing as he could read Lydia’s periodic table poster across the room, that seemed not to be the case.

And that was sort of when he’d freaked out.

The memories of the last day had come crashing down on him and to put it simply, he’d gotten the hell out of there as soon as possible; slipping out from under Lydia, grabbing his jacket and hightailing it because ... well…

He knew he should have stayed. Lydia might be confused when she woke up. He knew because he’d done this before; after he’d been possessed by the Nogitsune, killed a bunch of people plus everything with Allison, he couldn’t muster up the courage to look Lydia in the face for months. He’d withdrawn from her, and he knew that was wrong and Lydia had needed people around but he just _couldn’t_.

He was a nervous wreck.

Scott grabbed his best friend’s hands. Stiles looked down at them, not having noticed that they had been shaking slightly.

“Stiles,” he said gently. “Yes, Lydia has an idea, and if anyone can get us out of this mess, it’s her. Especially since none of us were able to track down Kalku. It’s gonna be okay.”

He nodded, fast. “Yeah. Yeah. I know that.”

“Good.” Scott held his hands for another moment before finally letting go and turning away. He was in the habit of doing that sometimes; seeing if Stiles was in pain without telling him. Apparently he’d never forgotten when his best friend had been slowly and agonizingly dying right in front of them and had told no one.

They were both quiet when they clambered into Stiles’ Jeep; Stiles was consumed in his own thoughts and when Scott finally spoke quietly, Stiles almost didn’t hear him.

“So… in the other world, Allison’s alive.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles immediately, gripping the wheel a little harder and feeling like a terrible, self-absorbed jackass for not even thinking about Scott’s reaction to all this. “According to Lydia. She said that at the meeting yesterday, remember?”

He saw Scott swallow thickly out of the corner of his eye. “Did… did she say anything else about her when you guys left?” His voice was casual, but Stiles wasn’t fooled.

“No,” Stiles replied. It wasn’t technically a lie; Lydia hadn’t said much about Allison after being told that she wasn’t even alive here, but Stiles had noticed Lydia’s eyes flit more than once to Scott’s ring finger during the meeting. What that meant, he didn’t want to think about; and he certainly wasn’t going to share his best guess with Scott, because if there was one thing he could do, it was save his best friend a little bit of pain.

Scott didn’t pursue the topic.

They pulled in to the parking lot of Lydia’s apartment, only waiting a minute before Lydia emerged from the building, looking a little miffed when she spotted Stiles. Stiles, for his part, sunk lower in his seat.

She got into the vehicle. “Hello, Scott,” she said pointedly.

“Hey, Lydia,” Scott said, sounding distracted.

“Hi Lydia,” Stiles piped up. He could feel her glare on the back of his neck. Scott didn’t notice this exchange; he still looked a little distant.

As Stiles put the Jeep into drive, he caught her eye and mouthed sorry at her through the rearview mirror- because he truly was- and maybe that translated because the line of her mouth softened slightly.

No one spoke on the drive- Stiles was too afraid to ask Lydia about her theory- and they were silent as they pulled up to the clinic, at least until Scott spoke with determination.

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

 

“Okay,” Lydia said, clasping her hands together. “I have a theory.”

The pack was crowded inside Deaton’s clinic operating room, leaning against walls sitting on gleaming metallic surfaces, and at the middle of it all was Lydia, whom they all looked to expectantly. Including Stiles, who stood close to her. She seemed to have forgotten- or, more likely, filed away for later- his chickening out that morning.

She swallowed a few times before continuing hesitantly. “In my universe, me and Stiles have a tether... a connection, if you will…”

An unspoken connection, Stiles thought, and forcibly stopped himself from laughing out of pure bitterness at the irony of this whole situation.

“…that let me to bring him back when –”

Isaac interrupted. “That happened here too.” He looked a little pained, and everyone could understand why. Isaac had been so close to Allison at the time of her death, and then he’d disappeared afterwards for a long time.

Lydia nodded, oblivious. “So I think that we can use that connection in the same way to pull back your Lydia back into this universe,” she finished.

There was a brief silence as everyone contemplated it. Stiles rubbed his face. He supposed it made sense, in that twisted way that only supernatural things made sense.

“It makes sense,” Scott echoed his thoughts. “What do you think?” he inquired to Deaton, who was looking on thoughtfully.

“I agree with you, Scott,” Deaton said slowly. “It’s a good idea. We could try it. But again, I have to remind you all of the risks of such a procedure. You either die, or you get pulled back. It was never guaranteed that… the three of you… would come back when we did it before, and you have to remember the repercussions of doing something like this. It leaves a permanent mark.”

Stiles felt like everyone was looking at him in that moment, but he tried to ignore it and focus on what Deaton was saying.

“But only if Lydia is totally okay with it,” Scott added, looking at her with concern and worry. “You don’t have to do this, Lydia.”

“I want to.”

Her simple words shocked Stiles out of a daze.

He shook his head vehemently. “Lydia, it’s too dangerous. We’re not doing this.”

She turned to him. “It’s not your choice to make,” she snapped.

“I’m the other end of the tether, so I think it sort of is,” he retorted angrily, and couldn’t even bring himself to give a shit that there were other people in the room. “We don’t even know that this is going to work. I can’t  _lose_  you, Lydia. I can’t.” The raw emotion in his own voice seemed to surprise Lydia a little bit, and she blinked a few times before replying with a voice decidedly warmer than before.

“I’ve already made my decision.”

He swallowed, and he didn’t even care that he was now pleading with his eyes. “We have time. We can try something else.”

“We’re not waiting around. The witch is probably biding her time and getting more powerful.” Lydia was now directing her words at the entire room, her words earning her some nods of agreement. “Or, she’s gone and we’ll be stuck like this forever unless we do something about it. I’m willing to take the risk. I want to help.”

Deaton studied her face for a long moment before nodding. “I see.” He took a long breath, a rare moment when Deaton showed his own set of nerves. “Isaac, could you help me get the bathtub?”

Isaac nodded, disappearing with Deaton into the corridor. Everyone settled into uneasy conversation, and Stiles took the moment to approach Lydia.

Her back was to him, but it stiffened when he spoke. “Lydia,  _please_ ,” he begged, not even caring how desperate he sounded. He couldn’t stand the thought. He wasn’t sure he would even be able to do it. Drown the girl he loved, hold her underneath the water and watch her struggle for breath and then watch the light fade from her green eyes. Her shoulders would stop thrashing, and her heart would slow to a sluggish pace before finally not beating at all. He could picture it oh so freakishly vividly in his mind. To  _kill_  the love of his life with his bare hands.

And then just  _hope_  that she would come back to him.

“I had to go through the exact same thing as you,” Lydia hissed at him. “Do you even know what that was like?”

“I thought you were on board that time!” Stiles said with disbelief. It was true, she hadn’t seemed to be upset.

“Because I knew you would do anything to get your dad back, Stiles,” she replied angrily. “That’s what you do. You’d throw away your life for someone you care about. Without a question. Without a single doubt. That’s  _just what you do_.”

And for a moment, she looked broken. Scared. Terrified, even, and Stiles was reminded that all the horrific things he’d just visualized about drowning her- she’d been  _through_  that already.

Stiles stood stock still, shocked at her brief show of emotion. Dimly he was aware of Deaton and Isaac lugging the metal bathtub in, Scott shaking a large bag of ice.

Lydia, out of steam now it seemed, eyed him with a look he couldn’t decipher. “Stiles… don’t you want your Lydia back?”

Yes. He wanted that, so so badly. “Not if it means the risk of killing both of you,” Stiles replied honestly. “Not if it means the risk of killing even  _one_  of you.” In no life, world or universe did he want to have a hand in Lydia Martin’s death.

Her eyes fluttered shut at those words and she let out a long sigh. “Stiles. You have to trust me.”

And he did, he trusted her so damn much and he trusted her more than almost anyone else; he trusted her with anything and everything except one thing that Lydia had broken time and time again and that was  _his heart_.

“Lydia, Stiles,” Deaton called out, his voice quiet and sombre. “It’s time.”

She reached out and placed a hand on his, a gentle touch that seemed to reach everywhere at once. “I’m doing this. You know it. You know it’s the only way.”

He rubbed his eyes, blinking back tears. “Okay. Okay, Lydia. Goddamnit, _okay_ ,” he lamented, shaking his head vigorously. “Okay.”

She offered him a very small smile at that. He couldn’t find it in him to smile back in return.

Stiles stood behind her as Lydia slowly got into the ice water-filled tub, her fingers clenching the sides the only indication of her discomfort. In an attempt to help, he rubbed his hands soothingly along her shoulders even as he pushed her down to her death.

Their relationship felt a little twisted sometimes, honestly.

Her teeth began to chatter after a moment, her head turning up and matching the eyes of Kira across the room. Something in Lydia’s expression must have concerned her, because she spoke up. “Lydia, you can still back out.”

“No,” Lydia said at once. Stiles would have chuckled if things were different. She was so goddamn stubborn.

The rest of the pack, save for Scott and Deaton, filed out of the room for the next part, as if by silent agreement. As they passed, Kira and Malia gave Lydia reassuring pats on the shoulder before drifting off as well.

Lydia took a long breath and exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes briefly before opening them again.

“I’m ready.”

And then it felt sort of like a dream to Stiles, as he bit his lip and pushed her into the water and watched her long hair drift lazily to the surface even though it did not need to breathe.

What happened for the next minute, he had to repress for his own sanity.

But in the end of it, there were tears streaking his face and wetness on his lip where he had bit too hard and drawn blood. And there was a steady, comforting hand on his own shoulder- Scott.

“Think about her,” he heard Deaton’s voice as if it were from far away. “Think about Lydia. Your Lydia. Bring her back, Stiles. You can do it.”

He let out what sounded like a half-sob half-laugh. “I better.” Or he was going to blame himself for the rest of his life.

Because Lydia. He could not lose Lydia.

And it was as if the images of her were bombarding him now in his mind, her laugh and her strawberry-blonde hair and her husky voice and the keening intelligence in her brilliantly green eyes.

And her smile, especially the one she reserved just for him.

The time passed slowly, crawling away from them as he leaned against the bathtub, eyes squeezed shut, with all his heart willing Lydia to come back.

She had to come back. She _had_ to. And if she _didn’t…_?

In that moment, he sort of wanted to go with her.

* * *

 

Scott watched his friends with worry. He loved Stiles and he loved Lydia and _they had to be okay_. He had always wanted happiness for them; especially when he had started to detect a mutual attraction from Lydia. He never let it on to Stiles, though; Lydia was Scott’s friend too, after all, and she was capable of making her own choices despite whatever her chemo signals told the werewolves who were paying attention.

But this was beyond any of that. He knew how deeply Stiles felt about Lydia. He couldn’t lose her. Scott wouldn’t wish that on anyone, seeing as he’d experienced it firsthand.

Lydia, come back, he prayed silently. For all of our sakes.

The hours ticked by and Scott became increasingly nervous.

Two options here, Deaton had told them earlier. She dies, or the tether brings her back.

No one could have predicted a third outcome.

At least, until Stiles’ knees buckled and he collapsed on the floor.

And there was suddenly one less heartbeat in the room.

* * *

 

**UNIVERSE 237**

“Okay, so that went well,” Stiles said with his usual sarcasm as he drove Lydia back to their apartment.

Lydia fretted with the edge of her skirt. “It doesn’t make any sense, Stiles. She crossed the mountain ash.”

Stiles shrugged. “So what? It’s not exactly foolproof. We’ve seen plenty of supernaturals cross the line before. Me, for example,” he said with a somewhat smug grin.

She kept forgetting that Stiles was the Alpha here, not Scott. “Yes, but that took a huge amount of strength and willpower to fight against the barrier,” she argued, “Morgan crossed with no problems at all. Like she didn’t have a drop of magic in her.” She chewed her lip in thought; these were all thoughts she’d already voiced to the pack after meeting with Morgan, but she and Stiles tended to have the same arguments over again so this didn’t surprise her. “She’s not Kalku in this universe. Morgan is _Morgan_ in this universe...”

“Meaning?” Stiles prompted.

She sighed heavily. “Meaning we’re back where we started- with no clues and no idea how to get out of this situation.” And also, with no idea of who Kalku might be in this universe.

A heavy silence fell, and she saw a trace of sadness cross his mouth before returning to his sideways grin. “Okay. But you know what the bright side is?”

“What?” Lydia could think of a few bright sides herself. Meeting Allison, for one. And being kissed by Stiles… yeah, that hadn’t hurt.

“I’m going to make my special lasagna tonight,” he announced. “Your favourite.”

She blew air out of her mouth, amused. “I thought you said your blueberry pancakes were my favourite.”

“Everything I make is your favourite,” he chortled. “ _I’m_ your freaking favourite.” He cast her a sideways look. “Well, not yours, I guess. But _my_ Lydia’s,” he amended.

Lydia had had a taste of Stiles’ cooking back in her universe, when they all met at his house occasionally and he whipped something together, so she had a funny feeling that Stiles’ cooking would, in fact, be her favourite as well. She knew for a fact that Stiles used to be absolutely terrible at cooking (a fact confided to her by Scott) but after… certain life events, he’d gotten better at it, making healthy meals for his dad when he could. And eventually, at this point, she knew from the small taste that she’d had, that it was pretty damn good. But she didn’t say that.

They finally pulled into the parking lot and Lydia felt inexplicably exhausted even though she’d done next to nothing today besides putting up with Stiles, taking a friend out to lunch, and then meeting with the pack.

So she let him wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead them inside the building, inside the elevator and then to their door as he fished for his keys. He’d been decidedly less handsy after the revelation that this was not, in fact, the Lydia he was engaged to, although she saw him- well, _looking_ at her in that way of his sometimes, that look of awe and yearning. It was nice to know this was as confusing to him as it was to her.

And they went inside and Lydia perched on one of the stools as Stiles whirled around the kitchen chopping and tossing and stirring and refusing Lydia’s offers to help.

“I’m a good cook,” Lydia argued.

“Yeah, we know that Lydia, but let me do this for you, okay?” he said impatiently, stirring the sauce he was currently cooking on the stove. “So sit your cute little ass _down_.”

His back was to her but Lydia couldn’t help but smile. Even with how much he exasperated her sometimes, she couldn’t help but _adore_ him. And she felt so much more impulsive in this universe, so she got up, came up behind him and gave him a peck on the cheek.

He sighed with something that sounded like contentment at the gesture. “Aaah.” He turned and grinned at her, and his eyes flitted down to her lips but she tried hard not to notice, and then he opened his mouth to say something else but then he stopped.

Lydia tilted her head at him. “Stiles?” He didn’t respond.

And suddenly, with no warning at all, his whole body went slack and he pitched forward.

Lydia squeaked as Stiles fell on her like a sack of bricks.

Like dead weight.

They both went toppling down because of how close they’d been standing, but Lydia managed to grab on to the counter with one hand so their fall wasn’t so hard.

On her butt on the ground, she took a second to breathe before looking down at Stiles’ head on her lap.

“Stiles?”

That was when she noticed something peculiar.

He wasn’t breathing. No small puffs of breath from his mouth.

“Stiles!” she yelled, scrambling up from under him. Putting a frantic finger to his pulse.

 _Nothing_.

She let out a half-sob, clasping a hand against her mouth. He’d been fine just twenty seconds ago- making jokes, flirting- and now, now he was...

No- but it didn’t make any sense- she hadn’t screamed for him, and if there was anyone that the banshee of Beacon Hills would scream for, it was Stiles. Even if she _wasn’t_ a banshee she would scream at his death.

She willed herself to calm. She couldn’t save him like this. She had to be cool-headed.

Be Lydia Martin, she scolded herself, and came back to her senses. Like a scientist, cold, calm, rational. Yes. Chest compressions. A set of thirty. Tilt the head back. Pinch his nose closed. Breathe into his mouth. Check for breathing. Repeat.

And then he was taking a deep rasping breath for air.

Lydia leaned back on her heels, giving him room and holding back tears as he coughed violently in her arms.

“Stiles,” she said, stroking his hair away from his forehead, “Stiles, are you okay?”

He blearily opened his eyes, revealing slivers of amber between his lids. He seemed to take in his surroundings before doing a double take, suddenly wide awake. “Holy crap.”

“What?”

“Where am I? Is this… our apartment?” Stiles said, scrambling up into a sitting position. He said it in a funny way, like it was a foreign concept to him. Which didn’t make sense because...

“Yes,” Lydia replied slowly.

Stiles cursed quietly, still trying to catch his breath. Lydia felt his heart beating extremely fast under her hand. “Lydia. It’s me,” he said like he couldn’t quite believe it himself, and suddenly his hands were on her face, on her shoulders, on her hair, as if trying to convince himself that she was real. “It’s _me_.”

Lydia didn’t have time to process that before he gasped his next words.

“This time _I_ switched.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh... well, the right Stiles' and Lydia's are reunited, but both in the wrong universe! Things are getting interesting ;)
> 
> As always, I love love love comments sooo much! Let me know what you thought of this update and/or if you were just as #wrecked by last night's episode as much as I was ;)


	6. out of your element

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two Stiles' attempt to get their bearings in different universes, with mixed amounts of success.

**UNIVERSE 1.0**

After Stiles had- well, died- Scott had yelled his name, skidding over to see for himself what was going on, Deaton not too far behind. Then Kira, who had still been in the clinic after all this time, came running in and helped Scott restart his heart with her her lightning.

And when Stiles came back to life, gasping and sputtering curses, Lydia had rose out of the water with a splash; completely, wide-eyed awake.

“Did it work? Did it work?” Kira asked Lydia urgently even as Lydia attempted to get her bearings; eyes flitting around, looking down at her hands before finally meeting the kitsune’s eyes, her plump mouth turned down in disappointment.

“No.”

“I’d say it did,” Stiles said then. He hadn’t said a word as Deaton had checked his heartbeat and Scott had repeatedly asked if he was fine. But now he spoke up.

“I’m in the other universe. I mean, there’s no explanation for me being in the animal clinic because I swear to god twenty seconds ago I was making lasagna with -” He stopped talking abruptly and his head whipped around so fast Scott was surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“Lydia?” he asked, and the question was careful. “Are you…?”

She was already nodding frantically at his voice, a huge unfettered smile crossing her face as she shakily clambered out of the tub. “Stiles-”

She didn’t get to say anything more because in a few bounds he’d reached her and suddenly Stiles and Lydia were _kissing_ in front of them all.

“Um,” Kira said, awkwardly.

The two paid no heed. Stiles cupped Lydia’s face sweetly with his hands, angling his head to kiss her even deeper. Lydia, for her part, had thrown her arms around his shoulders.

Scott looked at Deaton, who looked at a complete loss because of what had happened. “Doc,” Scott said, feeling helpless, “what- I mean, wasn’t this supposed to-”

“This is not something I could have predicted,” Deaton muttered quietly. “But I can think of a few reasons why.”

The front of Stiles’ black shirt was completely soaked through when he finally pulled away thanks to Lydia but he didn’t seem to mind, shrugging unapologetically even when Lydia muttered “sorry”.

“It was hideous anyway, am I right?” he grinned at her.

She smiled slightly back. “Yes,” she said. And then she was looking him up and down and then seemed unable to help herself from stepping back into Stiles’ arms. And he tucked her head under his chin and the embrace was somehow more profoundly intimate than the kiss they had just shared, so Scott felt like he had to look away.

Stiles buried his face into her hair and breathed deeply and, well, sort of noisily, Scott thought. When Lydia pulled away to give Stiles an odd look, he explained, “I can’t smell you otherwise, god, it feels like someone slapped a wad of cotton over my nose, I can’t smell _anything_.”

“It’s been a while since you were human,” Lydia agreed with a shrug.

Stiles nodded and that seemed to prompt him to turn to Scott. The two appraised each other for a long moment before Stiles finally spoke.

“Well, well, who’s the big bad alpha here?” he said with a grin, and then his best friend from another universe was pulling Scott into a tight hug.

Scott was just so relieved that Stiles was okay (both of them, really) that he hugged the person who technically he had never met with the same fervor.

When Stiles pulled back, he was staring strangely into Scott’s eyes. Scott quirked an eyebrow.

“Do it,” Stiles said, squinting at him.

If Scott didn’t know his best friend so well he might not know what he was talking about. But Stiles was Stiles, so he knew exactly. He closed his eyes and opened them again to reveal his red irises.

Stiles took what looked like an involuntary step back. “Whoa,” he breathed. Then he whipped his head around to look at an amused Lydia. “Is this not, like, a complete trip for you?”

“Hmm,” she replied, putting on a thoughtful face. “I think Scott as the alpha makes more sense, actually. He’s always been more of the charismatic leader type. You’re always the dog barking up the wrong tree.” She smiled sweetly.

Scott managed to smother a laugh as Stiles looked aghast.

“Lydia! Why are you so far up Scott’s ass all the time?! Who is it you’re marrying again?”

She snorted, folding her arms. “Not you, if you keep making comments like that.”

As Stiles stumbled over himself to clarify his own words, Scott couldn’t help but smile to himself. They were so like… Stiles and Lydia, if Stiles and Lydia got rid of the unspoken barrier that everyone else saw had been between them for years. Scott couldn’t help but enjoy it, enjoy his friends being happy.

He exchanged a disbelieving glance with Kira, a knowing one with Deaton; and then the moment was broken as Isaac rushed in, hand braced against the door and with an urgent expression on his face.

“Uh, you might want to wrap up the reunion,” he said, “because Parrish is here and thinks Lydia is dead.”

Scott stiffened. He’d smelled Parrish on Lydia more than once recently but never commented, as Lydia had never chosen to share information of her relationship with Parrish beyond the close friendship they had. “Who told him?”

“He came by to see Lydia, and Malia was trying to explain what was going on,” Isaac explained. “Obviously she didn’t do a great job, because –” Isaac didn’t get to finish his sentence before he was pushed out of the way.

Jordan Parrish didn’t hesitate to come through the doorway, eyes sweeping the room until they found Lydia, and finally registering relief. “Lydia, I leave town for three days and they tell me you’re _dead_ ,” he said, rushing towards her. Lydia stood frozen as he engulfed her in a hug, pushing Stiles away a bit in the process. Scott looked tentatively at Stiles; his best friend was squinting suspiciously at the deputy, a frown now crossing his features.

Lydia cleared her throat, eyes flitting to Stiles before returning to Parrish. “Hello, Jordan.”

There was a silence as Parrish registered her odd tone of voice. Finally Stiles spoke. “Oh my god, is no one going to tell this guy?”

“Tell this guy what?” Parrish said, turning to raise an eyebrow at Stiles.

Stiles looked him up and down, now eying Parrish’s hand on Lydia’s hip with extreme distaste and a revelation dawning on his features. “Look,” said Stiles angrily, now eyeing Parrish’s hand on Lydia’s hip with extreme distaste, “If you and Lydia are hooking up I’m gonna have to _seriously_ question-“

“Deputy Parrish,” Deaton interrupted, face calm but mouth twitching at the corner, “meet the alternate universe versions of Stiles and Lydia.”

Parrish gawked. “What?”

“And we’re engaged, so keep it in your pants,” Stiles felt the need to add; Lydia whapped him on the arm.

“Wait, you and Lydia are banging?” Isaac asked bluntly to Parrish. “I think that’s news to everyone…” Stiles shot him a nasty look as Lydia bit her lip.

Kira shot Isaac an exasperated look. “Can you not?”

Parrish paid no heed; he just kept glancing between Stiles and Lydia and looked like he really needed to sit down.

“Let’s catch you up,” Scott said, finally taking pity on him.

* * *

 

“Okay, so,” Parrish rubbed his face, looking tired, and Scott felt bad for him. “just to recap. Stiles and Lydia are in the wrong universe. A witch sent Lydia there. A witch named… what was it again?”

“Kalku, but she goes by Morgan Lefebvre,” Stiles supplied, and everyone, including Lydia looked at him.

“Morgan?” Lydia gaped, eyes wide. “Morgan?”

“Not the Morgan from our universe,” Stiles said dismissively. “But the one from this universe,” he now directed his words at the group, “works at BHHS, friends with Lydia, chemistry teacher? Evil? Ring any bells?”

“Pav goes to BHHS,” Scott said, mind working very fast as he pulled out his phone. “Let me ask him about her.”

Pav texted back immediately, and Scott looked up with raised eyebrows. “He says Lefebvre resigned two days ago and no one at school’s seen her since.” Pav had also complained about not knowing what problem the pack was dealing with, but Scott didn’t say that. Besides, it was an intentional decision on his part; he tended to keep the younger pack members out of pack business as much as possible so as to afford them the kind of normalcy that he had never had.

He idly wondered if this was also the decision Stiles had made in the other universe.

Lydia sighed. “Another dead end.”

“Alright, so the witch sent Lydia, but Stiles went by himself,” Parrish said, getting back on track with his recap.

“Yeah, how did that happen?” Isaac asked from where he was leaning against the wall.

Scott glanced at Deaton. “You wanna share those theories of yours?”

Deaton offered Scott a slight smile before speaking. “The tether was supposed to act like exactly that- a tether,” Deaton said. “It was supposed to tug Lydia’s consciousness back to this universe. But instead, the opposite occurred.”

“Lydia pulled Stiles to the other universe,” Scott realized.

“Exactly,” Deaton replied.

Malia spoke up. “But why would that even happen?”

“That’s a good question,” Deaton said, and Scott got the impression he’d been thinking long and hard about this from the very moment they knew Stiles had switched. “Just think of the tether of a very taut string. In this case, it’s a grand-scale game of tug-of-war, and Stiles stopped pulling. He subconsciously decided to go to her instead of standing his ground, because somehow, his will to go to her was stronger than her will to come back to him.”

There was a long silence and Scott saw Lydia look down uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye.

Isaac whistled low, glancing at Stiles. “Unrequited love is a bitch.”

“Shut up,” Stiles said automatically, but unable to hide a trace of insecurity entering his eyes. Maybe Lydia saw it, because she reached for his hand.

Scott finally felt a need to speak up, if only to defend his best friend. “Lydia loves Stiles just as much as she loves all of us,” Scott said firmly. “If not more. She wouldn’t choose _not_ to come back. It’s subconscious, it _has_ to be.”

“Well, why didn’t she ‘subconsciously’ want to come back?” Malia asked finally. No one spoke.

Because wasn’t _that_ the real question.

* * *

 

**UNIVERSE 237**

Deaton clicked off the light he’d been shining into Stiles’ eye. “Medically, you’re fine,” he finally announced, and Lydia released a bated breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Stiles said nothing, his eyes fading from red back to amber.

They were still in the kitchen, Stiles sitting on the floor with his head leaning against the oven door. Deaton and Scott were kneeling in front of him, where they had been testing his reflexes for the past ten minutes. Lydia hovered beside him with Allison and Scott nearby.

As soon as Stiles had woken up, she’d called them, not knowing what else to do. Stiles hadn’t said a word since his brief explanation of what had happened in the other universe to get him here, and she was starting to worry.

“Pretty good for someone who was dead twenty minutes ago, huh, Stiles?” Allison said with a teasing lilt to her voice. Stiles’ eyes flicked up to her before quickly moving back to the floor, mouth drawn into a tight line. Lydia and Allison exchanged looks. Lydia knew he was probably just freaked out.

Scott, ever the budding veterinarian, snapped the first-aid kit shut and nodded at Deaton. “You’re okay, buddy,” Scott said softly. Lydia watched as Scott examined his best friend a little closer, curiously, in a decidedly nonmedical way, probably thrown off by… well… a different person in front of him. “Your eyes responded to the light, heartbeat is steady, and temperature and blood pressure are fine too.”

The tension vanished when Stiles finally spoke, voice sounding a bit raspier than usual. “I love when you talk dirty to me.” Scott grinned and blew him a kiss at that and Lydia rolled her eyes, really just relieved that Stiles was speaking.

Deaton stood up and Scott followed. “We can sort this out in the morning,” Deaton said as Allison yawned. “For now, you two get some sleep. I imagine you need it.”

Stiles nodded mutely but didn’t get up from the floor. Lydia followed the group to the door. Allison paused on her way out, eyes flitting back to the kitchen doorway. “Do you want me to stay?” she whispered in Lydia’s ear. Of course Allison understood. Lydia and Stiles weren’t engaged, they weren’t living together, they weren’t even dating; of course this might be weird.

But for some reason she still said, “No,” and when Allison quirked an eyebrow up and said, “Are you sure?” Lydia repeated herself.

“Call if there are any problems,” Scott said with concern, and then the door was shut and she was alone in the apartment with Stiles. She stood staring at the doorway for a few moments, breathing deeply, before spinning on the heel and heading back to the kitchen.

Stiles wasn’t there when she entered, so she went looking. She found him in the living room.

His hands were stuffed into his pockets and he was staring at a photo above the mantle, the same engagement photo this universe’s Stiles had showed to her when she’d first arrived, and Lydia swore she saw his lips mouth the words, “lucky bastard”.

“Stiles?” she said.

He winced when he heard her; not out of surprise but pain. “Could you be any louder?” He hissed, rubbing his ears.

She folded her arms, miffed by his tone. “That’s my normal volume.”

“Yeah, well,” he huffed, “I’m not exactly used to having freaky werewolf senses, okay?”

She softened a little. Not much, though. “Okay.”

There was a silence, Stiles wandering around the apartment and touching things, picking them up, staring at them with shuttered eyes. Lydia followed him around silently while he explored. It was the same thing she’d done, really. At last he came to the bedroom, and he hovered at the doorway for a fraction of a second before crossing the threshold and looking around.

She saw his eyes rove from the walk-in closet to the cute little bedside table to the photos on the walls to the New York Mets calendar beside the window to the single queen-sized bed (his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly at the sight) before he finally approached something on wheels in the corner of the room that had a sheet thrown over it. Lydia followed closely behind.

Stiles threw the sheet off without ceremony, and exhaled at the sight of his own mystery board. Lydia watched as his hands traced the letters that he’d written, eyes flitted over the photos he’d tacked on there.

She’d actually not looked at it very recently, so she too was surprised to see most all the cases he’d been working on shoved to the sides of the board with one word scrawled in the middle: _Kalku_.

She and Stiles followed the red string to different places. _Lydia_ , one read, and an asterisk that she followed to the bottom of the board where it said, _Is beautiful in every universe, apparently_. Stiles snorted upon reading that and the next line drawn to Lydia’s which was _The less handsome version of me_.

A line directly drawn from Kalku’s name led to _Morgan Lefebvre_ , complete with a photo attached, and another word scrawled just beneath all this, which was: _MULTIVERSE??_. Following that were all the pieces of information that he had managed to dig up about everything that had happened, and Lydia had to admire Stiles’ organization in, at least, one facet of his life.

“It’s funny, you know,” Stiles said, voice deceptively calm in the silence of the bedroom. “I was writing this kind of stuff on my board back home, too.” He ran a hand over his chin, eyes squinting at the board, before he gave a half-laugh and looked at the ground. “Another _universe_.”

Lydia said nothing, but felt compelled to put her hand on his arm, carefully. There was something he was struggling to say and she wanted to make it easier for him to say it.

He drew a great, shuddering breath. “And I’m a werewolf and Scott’s a human and… _Allison_.”

Ah. There it was. No wonder he hadn’t been able to meet Allison’s eye.

Lydia involuntarily drew her hand off his arm and he flinched, really flinched, but almost like he’d been expecting it, which was worse because it wasn’t his fault. She quickly put her hand on his back but the damage was done.

“Stiles-“ she began, but she didn’t know where to go just then.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the board. “I’m sorry, Lyds,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I killed your best friend.”

She gaped at him. Well, this was certainly out of left field. “You didn’t kill my best friend, the nogitsune did. You didn’t have control over that.”

“And yet, in a world where the Nogitsune possessed Scott instead of me, Allison didn’t die.” And suddenly he was _shouting_. “What does that tell you, huh? Huh? I’ll tell you what that means, Lydia. It means that it was _my_ fault” he jabbed a finger at himself as he turned to her, “in our world that Allison died.” He breathed raggedly and dragged a hand over his face. “The only way I could live with myself after everything that happened was to believe everyone when they said it wasn’t my fault. And now we know it was.” He straightened suddenly, looking at the ceiling, and Lydia saw his eyes were shiny with tears. “Oh god. Oh _god_. I killed your best friend. The soulmate of _my_ best friend. One of the best people I’ve ever met, and it’s my fault she died.” His voice broke and she couldn’t take it anymore.

“ _Stiles_ ,” she said furiously, because suddenly she knew exactly what to say: the truth. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to put all the blame on yourself. It wasn’t _you_ who stabbed her in the chest!” And now there were tears streaming down her face as well at the memory.

“Yeah,” he half-laughed, in a sardonic way, “but it might as well have been.”

“That’s not true,” she insisted.

“How?” He said, and suddenly he was gazing at her with an intensity that surprised her. Suddenly he was pleading, begging with her to give him a reason not to _hate_ himself.

She took on the challenge. “The Nogitsune was wearing your face, he wasn’t even possessing you at that point,” she argued. “How could anything about you be influencing his actions at that point?”

“We don’t even _know_ anything much about the Nogitsune,” Stiles said, “for all we know, he took my character as well as my face. And Scott’s a straight up guy, we all know that, so maybe-”

“Stiles, you never wanted to kill Allison. She was one of your closest friends. How can you think that you influenced him to kill her?” she said desperately now, because how could he _not_ see this?

He threw his hands up. “Who fucking _knows_ , Lydia?” he spat. “Who fucking knows what kind of psychopath I am? It doesn’t even matter. The point is this.” He breathed deeply now, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again to look at her squarely. “This is a universe where the only thing that’s different is that Peter turned me instead of Scott. And the only other direct change that we’ve seen from that choice, is that Allison is alive.” He ran his hands through his hair. “That’s the facts,” he said, and it seemed he was speaking only to himself now. “You can’t deny the facts.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You’re right, that’s a fact,” she said, and he seemed to deflate for a moment before she pressed further, taking on an analytical tone, hopefully one that would make him see logic. “But, as any statistics professor will tell you, correlation does _not_ imply causation. We don’t know the lurking variables. There’s so much we _don’t know_.”

He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “And it doesn’t matter,” he said weakly. “Scott’s never gonna forgive me for this.”

“Scott? You’re worried about Scott?” Lydia stated with disbelief. “Stiles, me and Scott know that you would have died instead of Allison if you could. Even with what we know now. We know how you feel about it. _No one_ blames you.”

A tear finally escaped his eye, and she wanted to wipe it away, kiss it away, _take_ away his pain like Scott took did. Except even Scott couldn’t take away this kind of pain. His hands curled into fists. “Maybe they should,” he said, voice low.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She stepped closer, brought a hand to his face to force him to look at her, caressed his jaw with all the emotion she couldn’t express. His shoulders seemed to relax a little at her touch. “It wasn’t you,” she enunciated. “The Oni killed her under _his_ command, not yours. You were with me, remember? Quietly dying on the floor and still _trying to help_?”

He swallowed thickly, but his eyes stayed riveted to hers as she continued.

“I know you, Stiles. You make jokes about it, sure. You’re sarcastic. You’re downright mean to people you don’t trust. But when it comes down to it?” she whispered, leaning closer, “You always try to help.”

His eyes were wet again, but this time with an emotion she didn’t want to decipher. He attempted a smile, and it was a little watery and maybe a _little_ bit fake for her benefit but some of it was genuine too, and that was all she could really ask.

Maybe it was best also, at that moment, that the fire alarm began to blare and startled, they jumped apart.

Only at this point did Lydia realize how close their faces had been, noses nearly touching, and perhaps Stiles did too, because he looked flustered as well, although it was possibly also because the sound was too loud for him.

“The sauce is burning,” Lydia said, unable to help a little giggle from escaping her at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Sauce?” Stiles repeated.

“Yes, we were making lasagna,” Lydia said. “Your special lasagna?” She quirked an eyebrow at him, trying to distract him from his thoughts.

His eyebrows furrowed. “My mom’s lasagna.” His tone was flat.

“Oh.” So much for distracting him. He stared at her and she stared at him, both ignoring the beeping alarm, until she noticed the blood dripping down from his hands and gasped. “Stiles!”

He looked down at his own hands, noting the gouges in his palms that were already healing. “Oh,” he said, sounding very surprised. “I didn’t realize the claws came out.” He looked up at her and shrugged. “Can’t control this whole wolf thing yet, you know.”

That comment niggled something in her memory, and she frowned.

He tilted his head, noticing her change in demeanor. “What?”

Something in Lydia made her involuntarily turn around to look at the calendar on the wall. Her heart began to beat very fast as she scanned it. “Oh, no.”

“What?” he asked, alert.

“Stiles.” She turned around to look at him, standing there looking as exhausted as she felt. How much more could they all _take_? “The full moon… it’s tomorrow night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH I think Stiles raises some very good points though, don’t you think? D:  
> @ everyone who’s left comments so far, YOU DA REAL MVPs. I seriously can’t do it without you. You’re all amazing and deserve to live forever. Unless you are morally/philosophically opposed to eternal life, in which case you deserve to live long happy lives ! :P  
> And by the way, I’m really enjoying writing the next chapter…. Heheh…


	7. water water everywhere (and not a drop to drink)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title here has nothing to do with anything except for the fact that Lydia has extreme #THIRST in this chapter.

Stiles was acting a little odd.

It had all started in the middle of the night. Well, not quite, but anyway. Stiles had adamantly insisted on sleeping on the couch while Lydia took the bed, which Lydia thought was unreasonable considering how big that thing was, but there you go. And so she’d lain in the bed by herself, wide awake, for about an hour and thinking about how he was probably doing the same before thinking to herself how ridiculous this was, wrapping the blanket around herself and climbing onto the couch with him. And he’d readily accepted her into his arms without even opening his eyes, shifting over to give her room and then, when she’d draped the blanket over them, wrapping his arm loosely around her. And she’d fallen asleep embarrassingly quickly after that.

And then, when the sun peeked over the edge of the windowsill in the living room, she’d woken up and he was gone, and just as she’d finished searching for him around the apartment and starting to get worried, he’d walked through the front door, barefoot and in his pajamas. When she asked where he’d been, he’d looked only mildly puzzled but mostly unconcerned as he shrugged, saying he’d “just woken up in the woods” like that was a normal occurrence.

And well, it had taken her a while to puzzle out why Stiles was acting increasingly stranger as the hours passed, but it finally clicked.

The full moon was already starting to affect him. Really, she should have expected this. So, suffice it to say, she was keeping an eye on him.

Scott and the others had said they would return to the apartment soon with the supplies they could use to restrain Stiles during the full moon, and frankly, she was thinking of calling them in early.

This thought only echoed in her head when she came back from the bathroom to find Stiles in the kitchen madly digging around the fridge and throwing ingredients on the counter.

She raised her eyebrows. When she’d left the room three minutes ago, Stiles had been hunched over his laptop. “What are you doing?” she asked cautiously.

His eyes were dark and unreadable when he looked at her, sending chills down Lydia’s spine. “Making lasagna,” he said simply.

She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “Oookay,” Lydia said, walking over. They had never finished making the lasagna from last night, but she hadn’t thought it mattered this much.

She finally decided to just ask. “Are you feeling alright?”

He gave her a quick glance before returning to his task. “Yeah, why?”

Maybe it was just all in her head. “Nothing.” She cleared her throat, watching as he began making that sauce again on the stove top. “So… what can I do to help?”

He turned briefly and- get this- _winked_ at her. She would have laughed but it wasn’t cheesy, it was _sexy_. “Look cute.” He turned back to chopping garlic.

She huffed anyway, trying to distract herself. “I _can_ cook, Stiles,” she said, using the same argument she had used with the other one and wondering if she would get the same result.

She wasn’t disappointed. “Yeah, yeah, you could bake a cake with your eyes closed,” he said offhandedly as he stirred, back to her. A silence lapsed between them and she took the time to admire his broad shoulders and the muscles that showed through his shirt.

Stiles from her universe had never been the type to go to the gym and grunt and lift weights, but he had always had a leanly muscled body. It was the kind of body a runner might have, which, she supposed, was pretty much what Stiles was. He was always running. Usually with a baseball bat in hand. And it was all a pretty damn attractive package to Lydia (and frankly, to a _lot_ of girls ogling him in the later years of high school and beyond), even though it wasn’t her usual type to go after, but maybe that was just because it was Stiles and Stiles seemed to break all her usual rules.

But _this_ Stiles’ body- well, he wasn’t bulky or anything like that- but he certainly had the added benefit of being a werewolf, which tended to give all the boys a bit more muscle…She wandered over to the counter, leaning on the edge of it while watching him bend down to put the lasagna in the oven, and maybe letting her eyes linger on his backside a moment too long- god, how he made those hideous khaki pants look so good was beyond her but she had a feeling it had something to do with them being practically plastered against his ass-

He turned around and she was a second too late in bringing her eyes up to his.

He tilted his head at her, eyes narrowing as he studied her.

It wasn’t his usual, overly exaggerated tilt of the head. It was calculated, controlled in a way that Stiles normally wasn’t. It was the tilt of the head that, so many years ago, Scott had worn in Coach’s office when they’d- well, been about to make out- it had been so out of character on him.

The action sort of thrilled her on Stiles.

Then he spoke. His voice was even raspier than usual, but it was his words that made her gulp. “I can sense a lot of things, Lydia. I’m being bombarded by voices and details and… _scents_.” There was a soft, deadly emphasis on that last word, and Lydia swallowed thickly.

He took a step towards her, and there was something predatory about his walk. “And I… I can smell you,” he said, his voice low as he prowled towards her. Lydia found herself rooted to the spot by his voice. _It’s not real, it’s not real_ , she struggled to remind herself. _He’s not himself, he’s not in control_.

But that didn’t stop all reason from flooding away the moment he stepped into her personal space, waited a beat as he gazed into her eyes, then leaned forward suddenly to the column of her throat and inhaled deeply. All she could do when she processed this was make a small squeaking sound.

It was then that Stiles chose to pull away and smile wolfishly in her direction- and it was not just the fact that he was a werewolf- he wasn’t even showing his teeth- but the _aura_ that he exuded with it that really made Lydia feel she was in the presence of an alpha.

Stiles breathed deepily again as his nose rubbed against the delicate skin at the underside of her jaw. “God, Lydia, I can smell it,” he murmured with a sensuality that Stiles Stilinski definitely had never shown before. “I can _smell_ how much you want me.”

She was aware only of her own ragged breathing. And when his mouth suddenly opened and he dragged his teeth lightly, slowly, agonizingly down her neck and all the way to her collarbone, she made an embarrassingly wanton sound.

He paused, eyes flitting up to look at her; they were glowing red. Lydia felt inexplicably more turned on knowing he was so close to the edge of losing control because of her. “You like that?” he said with a smirk, and then he was tilting his head to the side to gain better access to her throat even as his hands roamed dangerously close to the edge of her skirt.

God, Stiles was attractive- she’d always known that- with his ridiculous cheekbones and Cupid’s bow lips, and that sloping nose and the gentle curve of his eyebrows, and his stupid hair and his long fingered hands, but it didn’t scream _sexy_ at first sight especially how he presented himself sometimes. And yet, when his whisky eyes were hooded like that, and his mouth twisting, contorting into that kind of smirk, Lydia just wanted to _scream_.

And not in the banshee kind of way.

But instead when his thumb traced the edge of her underwear beneath her skirt all she could utter was a weak choking sound.

He groaned at that, and rolled his hips against hers in a leisurely sort of way, and then she was moaning too, head tilting back to hit the wall. She felt like she was going to combust right there.

…And he hadn’t even _kissed_ her yet.

His teeth scraped her neck again, and this time she could feel the gentle pressure of canines coming out. She bit her lip. Do something useful, she wanted to shriek at him, anything to help her release this tension. But that was untrue, because everything he’d done so far had been… well, beyond useful.

 _Sinful_ was the word that came to mind.

And then he was hovering, one hand sliding up her side as he inhaled through his nose, eyes closing briefly. “You want me so bad,” he stated when he opened his eyes to reveal red irises, and it was said with amazement, with _wonder_ , a bit of Stiles coming through the haze of the full moon; and at this point Lydia was a mess and couldn’t even think about denying it.

When she didn’t respond, his mouth quirked up and he was stepping impossibly closer and pressing her flush against the wall- she felt _everything_. She had let all sense of control go it seemed; her hands had a mind of their own, roving everywhere she’d dreamed of roving; running them through his thick dark hair, his fucking _cheekbones_ , down his stomach, where the muscles jumped at her touch under his ridiculous plaid shirt- and then- because she had no control anymore- down a little further, eliciting a groan from him.

“Stiles,” she breathed, and his name fell off her lips like a plea. She just wanted him to _kiss_ her. She craned her neck to do it herself but he dodged and her lips landed on his cheekbone instead.

“Stiles, please,” he prompted, and Lydia had never had an obedience kink but she suddenly realized that when it came to Stiles, she was starting to find there was a lot of things that turned her on.

But she still had the presence of mind to remember she was Lydia fucking Martin, so she tossed her head, looking him in the eye. His gaze was dark and challenging, more so because his pupils were totally blown and the red irises barely visible. “I’m not turned on enough to be taking orders from you,” she replied haughtily, although she sounded a little more breathless than she would like. God, she didn’t even care that Stiles was under control of something else right now. It was just so unpredictably _hot_ when he was confident, when he was so unapologetically _sexual_. Did that make her a bad person to use him like this? Maybe. Probably. She couldn’t find it in herself to care right now.

He ground his hips against hers again, the friction sending a bolt of pleasure straight to her core. She couldn’t help the cry that escaped her. “Stiles, _please_ ,” he repeated, his voice deceptively calm in her ear in dichotomy with the almost ferocious look in his eye.

She didn’t like the smug smile tugging at his lips, so she leaned forward and this time when he dodged, she caught his earlobe in her teeth, biting lightly. He released a small gasp, and his fingers that had been toying with the edge of her panties under her skirt suddenly were biting at her skin painfully and she made a little “ _oh_ ” sound.

The breathless wince was like ice water being doused on both their heads.

He blinked and suddenly, he was off of her, pushing away and stumbling backwards. He looked at the claws that had come out against the skin of Lydia’s thigh and then back her for a moment, and Lydia had to admire the way he looked absolutely as _wrecked_ as she felt- hair mussed, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, clothes rumpled—and, well, she tried not to look down past his belt.

And then he started talking and it was like the spell was broken.

“Oh, my god, Lydia, I am so sorry,” he said, backing up until he hit the kitchen island, as if he were stretching to get as far away as possible. “That was- I don’t know, I don’t know what’s happening, I’m so –“

He sounded so confused and terrified at what her reaction would be that she decided to take pity on him. Straightening her skirt, she said in a mild voice that astounded even her at how put together she sounded, “It’s okay.”

He stared at her for a long second, and for a second his eyes flickered down to her skirt where she was adjusting it, and she knew what he was thinking because she was thinking it too, his hand had been up that very same skirt not twenty seconds ago.

“It’s not,” he said, looking even more flustered. “I’m so sorry, I don’t do this kind of thing- I mean- I wouldn’t just come on to you, you know that, I don’t –”

The more he talked, the more the fog that had been inhabiting her mind for the past several minutes began to lift. “Stiles,” she interrupted snappishly, suddenly very irritated at the entire thing and at the fact that the burning sensation between her legs was taking an inordinate amount of time to fade, “I know that.” She knew that. He’d never done anything weird to her, even in his most obsessed days. He knew the limits and he had always respected them. “It wasn’t you.”

He stared at her, chest still heaving. His lips parted slightly at her words, and Lydia tried hard to ignore the flushed colour and fullness of them.

“It’s the full moon,” she explained. “It makes werewolves act weird, remember?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “You remember what werewolves are, don’t you?” Stiles’ sarcasm was maybe starting to rub off on her.

His hand went up to vigorously rub at his scalp, so rattled he missed the sarcasm. “I… yeah….” He glanced at her quickly again, breathing deeply still- oh god, was he still smelling her? She must reek, with how turned on she was right now. His eyes glowed red for a single moment before he shut them tightly. “You know what, I think I’mgoingtogoforawalk,” he said, all very fast, and he opened his eyes (back to brown) and then he was practically _running_ out of the apartment.

And the apartment door shut quietly behind him with a click, leaving Lydia Martin standing in the kitchen alone with her thoughts.

As the arousal faded, she was quickly starting to feel like a complete idiot. Oh god, what had she been doing?! She had quite literally been ready to drop her panties for Stiles after about three minutes of—not even making out, they hadn’t kissed once—she didn’t even know what to call the obscene amount of grinding they’d been doing, but—the point was, she was disgusted.

After a long time of silently berating herself, Lydia finally just went off to the bathroom, not being able to take standing here anymore- a saying about getting out of the kitchen went through her head and her lips quirked up despite herself- and locked herself in. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror.

Yeah, she looked wrecked.

Her hair looked like a rat’s nest, her eyes were wide; and the powder blue collared shirt she’d been wearing was open by a few buttons, bearing her throat and collarbone where there was a red spot… another hickey looked to be on the horizon. Swearing to herself, she dug around the drawers looking for concealer.

She heard the front door open and close again.

Straightening, she shoved the drawer closed and hovered at the doorknob. Did she dare go out there? Who knew what kind of state of mind he was in right now? Should she call Scott? It wasn’t that she worried for her own safety; she didn’t worry for what he would do to her. She was more worried about what _she_ would do to him while he was not in control, something she was certain they would both regret later. Her thumb hovered over the call button on her cell phone for a several long seconds.

In the end, she stuffed the phone back on the counter because she should be _able_ to handle this. She really should.

Taking a deep breath, she quickly fixed her hair, straightened her clothes, splashed some water on her face and left the washroom.

Stiles was back in the kitchen, now taking the piping hot lasagna out of the oven. She entered silently, but she knew he sensed her by the way his back stiffened. He set the lasagna down on the stove top but didn’t turn around.

Lydia suddenly noticed he wasn’t using oven mitts. Forgetting everything that had happened for a moment, she gasped, “Stiles-“

He calmly pulled his hands away from the dish, and they were red and raw looking. “I’ll heal,” he said mechanically, giving her a very, very quick glance out of the corner of his eye as if he were afraid of looking at her.

Lydia frowned, opening her mouth to question why he’d do such a stupid thing, but then she got it. Pain kept werewolves in control; he’d done it on purpose. He was struggling to keep himself in check already, and the sun hadn’t even gone down yet. She supposed if an out of control beta werewolf was bad, an alpha without control must be even worse…

The doorbell rang.

Stiles cocked his head in the direction of the door. “It’s Scott and the others.” His voice was tinged with relief.

Stiles and Lydia stared at each other for a good three seconds before Lydia broke it off, striding towards the door and willing her heart to go steady as she opened the door. Scott, Allison and Liam were standing there.

“You’re early,” Lydia voiced, eyebrows raised and wondering if she was just paranoid and imagining the strange looks they were giving her.

“Yeah, Stiles called,” Scott said worriedly. “Said he was starting to feel weird.”

Lydia managed to swallow back a gulp. “Oh.”

“Did he _seem_ to act weird to you?” Scott inquired.

“No,” she replied a little too quickly, and opened the door a little wider, “Come in. He’s in the kitchen.”

Scott and Liam seemed to accept that and walked past her, but Allison lingered behind. Lydia tried her best to avoid looking at her best friend until she could practically feel the dark-haired woman boring holes into her head.

She finally glanced up at her. “What?” she said, a little waspishly.

“Nothing weird, you say?” Allison inquired innocently, leaning against the doorframe.

“That’s what I said,” Lydia replied.

Allison studied her for a moment longer and shrugged, brushing by Lydia. Lydia exhaled a breath and followed her.

In the kitchen, Stiles seemed much more at ease now that the others were there. It was nice to know he at least knew he wasn’t in control; he’d called them on his own accord, she thought. Which could only mean he regretted what happened. All the more reason for her to feel bad for encouraging his advances.

He was laughing about something with Scott and Liam, but when she entered, his smile visibly faded. She hated this. She hated how things always happened like this between them.

Maybe Scott noticed, maybe he didn’t, but either way he broke the tension by saying, “So, we’ve got the chains in the truck, you ready for this?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“I’m always ready for BDSM, Scott,” Stiles said with an admirably straight face. The two cracked up; even Liam’s lips tipped up. Allison released an adorable little snort of laughter as well before clapping her hands over her mouth in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, you snorted!” Scott exclaimed.

Allison was already flushing adorably pink. “ _Don’t_ -“

“How do you make snorting look sexy? It’s not fair,” Scott said playfully, reaching a hand out to pull her close to his side. “Teach me, Mrs. McCall.”

“Maybe in the car,” Allison said with a dimpled grin, leaning into his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we get going if we want to get to Lydia’s lake house by dark?”

There were nods of assent all around (“And can we bring the lasagna?” Liam added, eyeing it hungrily). Nobody had asked Lydia, so she supposed the lake house was still the go-to place to train new werewolves here, as well.

Lydia let the others file out first, murmuring to Stiles, “I’ll lock up,” and he nodded hastily, avoiding her eyes, and she once again felt awful.

Allison waited for everyone else to leave before she did, and then she paused at Lydia’s shoulder.

“Oh, by the way Lydia?”

Lydia turned to her with raised eyebrows.

Allison nodded at Lydia’s throat and stage-whispered, “That’s going to be one _hell_ of a hickey in the morning.”

And then a smirking Allison walked out the door, leaving Lydia standing in the living room fighting off a blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be exciting!! in a totally different way than I hope this chapter was ;) Let me know what you thought of this latest instalment!


	8. lunatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual when it comes to werewolves and the full moon, everything goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a very long chapter so I split it in two. Here's the first part!

“Is that tight enough?”

Stiles snapped back from concentrating on stopping his claws from coming out and focused on his best friend in front of him. He looked down at the chains that secured him to the wall of the basement. The others were milling around various areas of the house, putting countermeasures in place. “If I’m going to be as bad as _you_ used to be, we better hope so.”

Scott shook his head in disbelief as he continued tightening the chains. “This is so weird, man.” Stiles couldn’t agree more. “What am I like, as the alpha? Do I kick ass? Does Allison-“ he caught himself, smile fading a bit, “oh, right.”

Stiles chose to ignore the tugging in his gut at the mention of Allison’s name. “You kick major ass,” he reassured Scott. “And you’re so good at leading everybody. You’re like, the hot girl. Everyone loves you.”

“I’m the hot girl?” Scott asked with a look of awe on his face. Malia walked by at the same moment, giving the two of them a weird look. Stiles didn’t really care. It was kind of fun to see Scott seeing himself as the hot girl, twice.

“All right, I think this is good,” Scott announced, setting the chains in place. They bit harshly into Stiles’ skin. “Malia? What do you think?”

Malia, holding a plate of Stiles’ lasagna, walked a little closer to inspect the chains. “They’ll last maybe five minutes,” she offered after a brief examination.

“What?” Scott exclaimed. “That can’t be right!”

“What can’t be right?” said a new voice coming down the stairs, and Stiles’ heart seized momentarily at her voice.

Lydia descended with Kira and Allison flanking her shoulders, also holding a plate of lasagna. Apparently everyone was getting fed tonight except for Stiles. She didn’t look at him, and it relieved him as well as saddened him.

God, he’d been so messed up. At first, when he’d acclimatized to this body, he’d thought he was just imagining it. Confusing the signals with something else. It had taken him until overnight- perhaps the full moon making his senses even keener- for him to realize it was real.

Lydia Martin was _attracted_ to him.

The revelation was sullied, though- He’d come onto her pretty much without her consent and told her to beg for his kiss and did other things that –  god, he didn’t want to think about it. Sure, it was true that he’d fantasized about Lydia Martin- he wanted her.

But he also… _wanted_ her. He wanted not just her body, but her _soul_ , her heart, her brilliance; he wanted to experience life with her by his side. He wanted to hear her say his name with the same wonder he said hers.

He’d tried so hard most of his life to keep these tender feelings reined in (he was a sentimental sap apparently), knowing that they’d only hurt him in the long run- but now, with this newfound _hope_ \- it was all coming rushing back no matter how he fought against it.

Maybe it was just the innocent part of him, the boy in him who’d fallen in love with her in third grade, but when it came to Lydia, he wanted to do things _right_.

And he’d failed within ten minutes of trying.

The worst part was he still felt it. He still felt the urge to do those things. And he couldn’t just erase the sound of her moans from his mind. She’d wanted _him_.

He’d spent virtually his entire life thinking that his feelings had never been reciprocated, and now he was overwhelmed with the fact that he’d been wrong. He really should have been giddy with joy, but instead he was left with a bitter taste in his mouth. How was he even supposed to look her in the eye after this?

He didn’t suppose that last part would even be a problem, though, the way she’d been avoiding contact all evening.

“Malia says the chain won’t last five minutes,” Scott explained to Lydia, and she chewed her lip thoughtfully. Stiles recognized the expression. She was looking at the problem from an analytical perspective.

“Well, I had an idea, too,” Malia said, munching on the lasagna, and then out of nowhere. “Mmm, Stiles, this is really good, you’ve improved since college.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Stiles said with amusement, temporarily overlooking his dire situation to grin. Malia’s penchant for saying things out of the blue was one of her more endearing qualities. Moreso from a distance, he had found. Malia returned the smile.

“What was that idea, Malia?” Lydia asked loudly.

“Right,” Malia said, scraping up the last pieces of sauce on her plate. “Well, Stiles is an alpha werewolf, right? Most werewolves are in full control by the time they get to be an alpha, so he’s probably going to be worse than any beta we’ve seen.”

“Your idea is not instilling confidence so far,” Isaac remarked from the corner where he was leaning against the wall with Cora.

Malia flipped him the bird. “I say we poison him with a bit of wolfsbane.” The idea was met with gasps from the room. She held up her hand. “Not enough to kill him, obviously. Just to weaken him enough to make him manageable.”

There was a silence.

“Do it,” Stiles said. Everyones’ heads whipped around to him.

Lydia suddenly spoke, directly to him; her eyes flashed with anger. “Stiles, she’s suggesting _wolfsbane_.”

“I got that part,” Stiles said, somehow able to rein in the sarcasm.

Scott took the reins. “You’ve never experienced this before. Are you sure you know what you’re agreeing to?”

Stiles set his jaw tightly with determination. “I’ve seen what it does.” Like when it nearly killed Scott. But he didn’t want to hurt any of these people and if this was what it took, he really didn’t care.

Cora whistled low. “You still _really_ don’t know what you’re agreeing to.”

Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, I assume you’re not going to give me _fatal amounts_ -” then again Lydia might if she was in charge of it, with the dagger eyes she was currently shooting him- “-so I think we’ll be just fine.”

“Alright, he said it’s fine, who cares,” Isaac said. “Doesn’t wolfsbane grow around here?”

“I’ll get it, I’ve seen where it grows,” Kira volunteered.

“You have to grind it up,” advised Allison, miming the action with her hands. “He’ll inhale it.” Kira nodded at the instructions, and turned to Lydia. “Want to come with?” she asked tentatively.

Lydia folded her arms. “I’m not sure I’m okay with this.”

“Well, we’re not giving it to him yet, but just to be prepared,” Kira reasoned. “Come on.”

Lydia hesitated, shooting Stiles one last indecipherable look before ascending the stairs with Kira.

Scott turned back to Stiles. “Are you still sure about this?”

“No.”

The entire room seemed to pause at that unexpected response.

Stiles couldn’t quite pinpoint what in him had instinctively said that now. But a very sudden change of heart had come to him while they were discussing it- suddenly he didn’t _want_ to spend tonight chained up in a basement. He felt something restless tugging at his gut.

He sort of… wanted to run.

“Uh oh,” someone muttered.

Scott exchanged a glance with Allison, ever his anchor and voice of reason. She shrugged helplessly at him. Scott squatted in front of Stiles. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how much he’d been hunching over in the chains.

“Stiles,” Scott spoke slowly, enunciating clearly, “is that you talking, or the full moon?”

Stiles snorted. It was almost word for word what he’d once said to Scott. This was so rich. “I think I know what I’m talking about, Scotty, I’ve had to deal with _your_ werewolf ass for years.”

No one spoke.

“In fact,” said Stiles, now thinking to himself that this really wasn’t a big deal- after all, he knew more about keeping in control than most new werewolves did. It was only a matter of applying theoretical knowledge, at this point. “I don’t think I even need to be chained up.”

Scott eyed him warily. “I think we’ll keep the chains for now.”

An unexpected anger rushed through Stiles. They couldn’t _trust_ him enough to control himself? “No, get them _off_ of me, right now,” he ground out, unsuccessful at keeping his voice level.

Scott said nothing. His expression was conflicted, almost pained.

“ _Let me out_ ,” he roared, surging against the chains without warning. The metal bit into his skin but he was barely able to pull himself away from the wall; the bindings were too tight.

Scott backed up a few steps at the action, eyes wide. Cora stepped in front of him, her eyes glowing and teeth bared. “Stiles, stand down.”

“No other _choice_ , thanks to you,” Stiles growled. God, why couldn’t they just let him out? Almost distantly he felt his own canines lengthening as he grew more agitated.

“You’ll thank us in the morning,” Cora replied darkly. “Scott, what now?”

Scott was looking on with a furrowed brow. “I have an idea.”

* * *

 

Stiles’ laugh sounded a little unhinged (even to him, if he was being honest) when he saw what his ‘friends’ had done. “You think that’s going to keep me in?”

Scott capped the now-empty jar of mountain ash. “It should hold you off,” he said levelly.

Stiles strained against his bindings again. He could hear the metal quietly, slowly getting twisted out of shape. He should be able to get out soon. He could feel it- the heightened senses, the excitement that was bearing down upon him. He could feel the moon making him stronger and he wanted more of it.

And he was going to get it- but it would take time. And a little more effort, thanks to the mountain ash barrier Scott had just laid down around the house’s foundation, as usual ignoring Stiles’ protests.

God, it sort of made him want to rip his head off.

“What about the wolfsbane thing? Are we still doing that?” Isaac questioned Scott quietly, but Stiles still heard. He could hear everything, every little _fucking_ thing, and this basement was pretty much an echo chamber. It was driving him up the wall.

He saw Scott swallow. “I don’t know, man. We can’t just give him deadly poison without his consent. It’s not right.” Stiles smirked. Scott’s righteousness, to become his downfall once again. “But,” Scott added, resolve entering his voice, “if worst comes to worst…” he trailed off, and both turned to glance at Stiles. Stiles hastily adopted a neutral expression.

It was then that something rather curious happened- Stiles heard a whooshing sound in his ears, as if a small breeze were blowing by, and suddenly the room was quiet. He cocked his head, confused- The people in the basement were still speaking, still plotting to trap him here, no doubt- but it was as if all that had been muted and all he could hear was his own shallow breathing.

And then: “It’s the full moon, Stiles.”

Stiles went stock-still. No one else seemed to have heard the voice. Great, he was hearing voices, just another thing not to tell Morell. And then it spoke again, and it was hypnotizing really, it was musical, it was _vaguely familiar_ -

“Don’t you want to run?”

He felt his breathing get a little faster, a little shallower, at just the suggestion. He closed his eyes, willing himself to control it, because suddenly, suddenly he had a terrible feeling he didn’t _want_ to get out.

He couldn’t really remember why, though, so the feeling passed at the next words he heard.

“Yes.”

It took him a moment to realize those words had slipped from his _own_ gritted teeth, without his calling for them.

He heard something like satisfaction in the voice’s response. “Excellent.”

And then something curious was happening- the line of mountain ash that was visible at the doorway to the basement began to shift.

It was a little shift at first- no one else noticed. The line was held, but the ash itself seemed to be stirring, as if it were as restless as he was. Stiles glanced at the others- they were still turned away, arguing amongst themselves.

The line of ash was struggling, it seemed all of a sudden, against an invisible force. All Stiles could do was watch with wide eyes as, after several long beats- the line broke. Fractionally.

Just like that.

“Break free,” he heard in his ear, and he wanted to, it was true, he wanted to but there was a reason he was supposed to stay here wasn’t there…?

Stiles knew all he had to do at this point was break the chains and he could get out. But even as his body fought against the chains, a new feeling, a rising feeling of panic, clawed at his chest, and suddenly he was inexplicably struggling with himself. Trying to stop his own movement.

He was aware he was panting heavily at the effort, shaking- a bead of sweat dropped off his forehead but he barely noticed. And _now_ they were staring at him, finally having noticed his exertion at what probably seemed to them like nothing.

He saw Scott mouth his name, even though he couldn’t hear it. All he could do was fight what he knew deep down was a losing battle.

He heard a sigh. “I have to do everything myself, don’t I?” And then, with no effort at all on Stiles' part, the chains dropped from his wrists, slackened away from his torso, and fell loosely down to his feet.

All the sound in the room came roaring back.

“Oh, _shit_!”

That was really the only thing he heard, the sound of the curse echoing madly around the basement, because then, without a single thought in his head, without blinking, he was _gone_ as if that were all he was meant to do.

* * *

 

**FIVE MINUTES PREVIOUSLY**

Lydia plucked one last flower from the ground, adding it to her overflowing basket and turned to shout across the field to where Kira was distantly doing the same, “I think that’s enough!”

Kira didn’t turn around.

“Kira!” Lydia shouted again. No response, no indication that Kira had heard.

“She won’t hear you,” a different voice said.

Lydia whipped around.

She hadn’t heard her coming; she hadn’t seen her since that night at the Nemeton, but here she was, in all her glory of green tinged skin and totally red eyes and hair that seemed to move of its own accord-

She was _here_.

The witch seemed to enjoy Lydia being rendered speechless. “Hello, Lydia. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

In answer, Lydia thrust her hand out in a motion that sent a wisp of energy at Kalku.

Kalku disappeared and then she was speaking from behind Lydia, suddenly holding her arms down behind her back. Lydia’s basket of wolfsbane tumbled onto the grass, spilling its contents. “Oh, stop making things more difficult. I just need a favor.”

Lydia didn’t answer as she struggled.

“In fact, we can help each other,” the witch continued in a blasé tone. “I need to harness the Nemeton. You need to get back to your universe.” Lydia paused in her struggles, and Kalku smirked, Lydia could hear it in her voice. “That’s right, Lydia, I know about that. I know everything. But I don’t really feel patient enough to explain it all to you right now. So, what do you say?”

“No,” Lydia said through gritted teeth.

The witch made a _tsk_ sound. “Now that won’t do at all. Let’s try this again.” And Lydia’s arms were being pressed down almost painfully now as Kalku spoke warningly into her ear. “Won’t. You. Help. Me?”

“I can find my own way back to my universe, thanks,” Lydia bit out fiercely, even though her heart was pounding out a tattoo against her chest.

The witch was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was sly. “I suppose there are better ways of convincing you.”

Lydia’s breathing hitched.

“Poor werewolf, chained up in a basement and hardly in control,” the witch cooed with a pout. “Now wouldn’t it just be a shame if he were to, say…”

Kalku didn’t even finish her sentence. She trailed off mischievously and then she was just gone. In a puff of smoke that blew against Lydia’s hair, and suddenly she wasn’t held down anymore and she whipped around, looking desperately around her in this moonlit field, but Kalku was _gone_ as suddenly as she had appeared. But Lydia knew exactly where she had went.

 _Stiles_.

Lydia knew she'd never get back in time. Hands shaking, she fumbled her phone out of her pocket and speed-dialled Scott.

The phone rang once, twice, thr-

"Hello?"

Scott sounded perfectly normal but Lydia cut past all sense of cordiality in her panic.

"Scott!" she shouted into the receiver. "Watch out, he's about to get free, he's about to get loose!"

He sounded perfectly puzzled. "What are you talking about, Lydia? He hasn't even moved for a good..." Lydia could hear Scott turning his mouth away from the receiver, but then there was a pause in his voice. And then she heard him yelling, distantly- "What-"

And then, someone else, "Oh _shit_!"

And then Scott's phone clattered to the floor, she could hear it but she didn't wait for anything else because she was dropping her own phone, too, and Lydia had taken off, ignoring Kira’s confused calls as she started running as fast as her legs would take her in the direction of the lake house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me (at full volume): I'M ALWAYS A SLUT FOR COMMENTS


	9. hobson's choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia (naively) didn't think this night could get any worse.

She had almost reached the door, Kira hot at her heels, when she heard a crashing sound inside and shouts. A shattering of glass.

 _That’ll be the cabinets_ , Lydia thought grimly (her mother was absolutely going to kill her), and reached for the door handle. She didn’t get a chance to touch it- the door was thrown open as Isaac’s body hurtled through.

Lydia didn’t get a chance to properly register this before Isaac crashed bodily into her, throwing them both into the ground a few feet back. She landed awkwardly on her hip, taking the brunt of their fall. Isaac was out cold, limbs sprawled over her.

Meanwhile, a blur of _someone_ raced past, leaving a wind that blew Lydia’s hair forward. Sputtering, she finally managed to push Isaac off of her and then Kira was there amongst the shouts, grabbing her hands and pulling her up while repeatedly saying “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Lydia said, not even really feeling the welt that would surely bruise tomorrow morning on her hip. She’d been too late. Stiles was free. “Did you see Kalku?” she said sharply to Isaac, who was coming to.

“Kalku,” Isaac muttered. “That’s the witch, right?”

So no, then.

She stepped into the doorway of the house- her shoe crunched on glass- and took in the scene. It was a mess- the framed photo on the wall hanging lopsidedly, a dent in the drywall, the couch upturned with Cora’s legs barely visible dangling off the side. And she still heard shouting- no, it was arguing- in the next room. She paid it no heed for the moment.

“You let him leave?!” Lydia yelled, turning to Isaac behind her. He looked slightly guilty as he rubbed at the welt in his side.

“You didn’t see him, Lydia- there was no warning and the moon’s not even at its highest yet- the chains just, they just _fell_ _off_ -”

‘ _Ridiculous_ ,” Lydia bit out, seething. She shouldn’t have assumed they could keep it together while she was gone. Somewhere inside herself she knew she was really just angry at herself because it was _her fault_ , but it was nice to have someone to yell at instead. And now Stiles was probably off in the woods, mauling little children and having something else to be guilty about when he woke up in the morning.

Malia came into view, limping. “We even put a mountain ash barrier around him, but-” Lydia raised her eyebrows venomously, and Malia paused cautiously before speaking again in a smaller voice, “it was already broken when he got free.”

Of course it had. Of course Kalku was strong enough to break it. Her thoughts were cut off when Allison stormed into the room from some other place in the house, shouting after her, “you have to stop doing this! I can take care of myself.”

Lydia closed her mouth and looked curiously at her best friend as Scott followed her into the room. She inhaled sharply at what she saw- Scott was clutching his bicep and Lydia could see a gash bleeding profusely there, blood gushing between his fingers and dripping down his arm.

Kira beat her to the question. “What happened?” she gasped, already running over to the drawer where Lydia kept the first aid kit.

Scott opened his mouth but Allison was the one who spoke, angrily. “This idiot pulled me out of the way when Stiles came at us and ended up getting his arm slit open,” she hissed, putting her hands on her hips. “At the most I would have gotten bruise, but you made it worse for yourself. You need to stop _doing_ this.”

“I can’t stop,” Scott ground out, and even through his frustration Lydia heard helplessness. “You don’t get it, I _can’t_.”

Lydia silently agreed. Even in her world, that was just who Scott was. It wasn’t a duty thrust upon him by lycanthropy that made him kind and selfless and always willing to help; no, that was all there before, because the truth was that Scott was a hero from the start.

“Well, try!” Allison threw her hands up. “You’re _human_ , Scott!” And her forceful words seemed to reverberate through Lydia, because they reminded her of Stiles. “And you always seem to forget that. You’re going to get _killed_ trying to play the hero.” On the last word her hands dropped to her face and her voice broke.

Scott walked over to her and anger was forgotten as his arms encircled her, even though his blood was now staining Allison’s shirt. “Better me than you,” he said softly, and Allison was furiously shaking her head even as he nestled her into his shoulder. Which was why she didn’t see Scott look at Lydia out of the corner of his eye.

And now Lydia completely understood.

It wasn’t just about Scott being the hero when it came to Allison. He hadn’t forgotten what Lydia had told him about the other world. A world without Allison. And maybe that made him more conscious of her, of her utter fragility, knowing that it had been smashed to pieces in another life.

Lydia nodded silently at Scott, and he returned the gesture.

“What now?” said Malia carefully, finally having learned some sort of tact in these sorts of situations.

“We have to stop him,” Lydia said matter-of-factly. “This was Kalku’s doing.” She ignored the shocked looks on their faces. “She was here. She did this on purpose.” _Because I didn’t help her._ But she decided to omit that piece of information for now. There were more pressing matters.

“How do you know it was-” Scott stopped and shook his head. “Never mind. Alright, let’s go.”

“How are we even going to catch him?” Cora inquired, finally entering the room with an ice bag pressed to her forehead. “He beat down all of us in one go. I’ve never seen him that strong,” she mumbled, and her voice had a certain element of awe to it.

“That’s because usually he has more restraint,” Allison said, finally pulling away from Scott’s shoulder to pace. Kira moved in to bandage Scott’s arm. “We need to corner him somehow.”

“It’s really too bad you don’t have any of your dad’s ol’ glow sticks,” Isaac mused. “Those worked well back in high school.” Allison made a face.

“It’s not my fault he took all our stuff to _France_ with him.”

“You know what we do have,” Kira said slowly as she worked, “is this.” She nodded at the basket of wolfsbane that she’d picked while shooting an apologetic look at Lydia, knowing she still wasn’t on board.

Everyone seemed to turn to Scott. Even though Stiles was the alpha here, it was Scott that the group seemed to turn to more often than not. He was a natural born leader in that sense. Although at the moment he looked reluctant. “Maybe it _is_ the only option,” he conceded, and his voice was a little sad, a little defeated. Lydia felt for him; he’d tried so hard to stop it from coming to this.

Kira jumped in, voice soothing. “We just need to slow him down. One of the non-werewolves has to get close enough to expose him to it.” The room was silent, contemplating the possibility of getting a little too close for comfort to an alpha on a full moon-induced rampage.

“I’ll do it,” said Lydia, but it just so happened that Scott said it at the same time. The two looked at each other. Scott looked conflicted.

“Lydia, _I’ll_ do it. Stiles will kill me if you get hurt –”

“He won’t hurt me,” Lydia interrupted, her words sure. Scott seemed to hesitate in his argument at the confidence with which she spoke.

“How would you _know_ that?” Scott said weakly.

“I’m his anchor,” Lydia replied matter-of-factly, and the words tumbled out of her mouth without thought, yet when she paused to think, she realized she recognized it as the truth. At Scott’s quizzical glance, she sighed and elaborated. “In my universe, Allison was your anchor when you lost control as a werewolf. It just makes sense that I would be his.”

“Why Allison?” Isaac asked curiously. “Why not Stiles or his mom?”

Lydia opened her mouth to answer. _Because he loved her in a way he didn’t love anyone else_. But then she realized she didn’t _want_ to answer that question, because then it would apply to Stiles too.

And she really didn’t like thinking about that.

So instead she simply said, “that’s just the way it is.”

From the meaningful way Scott and Allison exchanged looks, she felt like she’d answered the question anyway.

“How can you really be so sure this is the same thing?” Allison asked, and Lydia knew the inquiry was far less innocent than how it was posed. But Lydia was ready for it.

“Proof,” Lydia replied, folding her arms and shooting her best friend a look that hopefully communicated that Lydia knew _exactly_ what she was doing. “When did he start _really_ losing control tonight, Scott? The exact moment,” Lydia pressed pointedly.

There was a beat of silence as realization dawned. Then: “After you left,” Scott said, wonderingly. “Right after you left with Kira.”

“Exactly,” Lydia said primly, ignoring the blown away looks on everyone’s faces in the room. “Does anyone else have doubts?” She made sure her tone left no room for it. They really didn’t have time; they needed to catch up to Stiles as fast as possible.

“Nope,” Allison said finally, and then grinned wickedly. “God, I haven’t shot Stiles in forever.” She produced her bow out of nowhere, it seemed, and plucked the taut string with one finger. “Let’s go catch a werewolf.”

* * *

 

In the end, the werewolves went ahead of them into the windy night, going east towards the town where they thought Stiles might go; Scott and Allison took Allison’s motorbike, and Lydia and Kira took Scott’s truck. “We’ll call each other when we find him,” Cora had said shortly, “then you come and hit ‘im with the wolfsbane.”

The thought of it kind of turned her stomach now, but if anyone had to do that to him, she wanted to be the one. The small pouch of mountain ash was burning a hole in her jean shorts pocket, though.

It was only a few short, terse minutes in the truck with Kira when she heard a blood-curdling scream ring through the night. She slammed on the brakes, and Kira reached for the door to steady herself with alarm.

“What-”

Lydia was already frantically putting the truck into reverse. “That scream came from my neighbour’s lodge.”

“What scream?” Kira said, looking confused. “And isn’t your neighbour’s lodge like, ten miles from here?”

Lydia’s sardonic side sighed internally. There was only one conclusion to be made. “I guess it’s a banshee thing,” she exhaled, and put the truck into drive.

Kira digested this. Then: “I thought you said you make sure your neighbours aren’t around during the full moon.”

“I try, but I can’t be omnipresent either, can I?” huffed Lydia, barely feeling guilty at her own sharpness. Better irrational anger than panic. She couldn’t help Stiles (or whoever Stiles was currently attacking) in a panic. Kira seemed to understand, because she stayed silent.

Lydia drove like a mad woman, barely even seeing the dirt road in front of her. She had to get to Stiles. She didn’t even want to think about what might happen- but, then again, she hadn’t had the overwhelming urge to scream, either, so maybe that was a good sign-

“Lydia, look!” Kira suddenly shouted, pointing out the window. “It’s his shirt.”

Lydia spared it a glance. Sure enough, she saw the blur of Stiles’ trademark flannel torn and hanging off a branch. Great. She kept driving.

“Why do werewolves always run around shirtless?” Kira wondered.

“He’s not shirtless, he’s just minus one shirt,” Lydia said automatically, calmly. Stiles wore more layers than a teenage girl on the Disney channel.

She was internally giggling at her own imagery despite the severity of the situation (or more likely, because of it) so she almost didn’t notice the tall figure standing in the middle of the road until Kira screamed.

And then Lydia was screaming, too, but she didn’t know for what, if someone was dying or if she was just terrified - so in one jerked motion Lydia had turned the steering wheel and Scott’s truck swerved drastically to the side, and into the trees. Lydia could barely see where she had gone, but suddenly the world was lurching violently, disorienting her, and so it seemed as if the thick tree trunk appeared out of nowhere.

They hit it. Lydia had the worst luck in the world.

* * *

 

When Lydia came to, the smell of smoke was the first thing to assault her senses. The next thing she felt was her ribs, pulsing a sharp pain through her side. And the last thing she realized was that she was being dragged by the arms across the uneven forest floor, away from the vehicle. She immediately struggled to open her eyes to see her savior.

“Ah good, you’re awake. And just in time.”

There was no mistaking that voice. It was Kalku. Not much of a savior.

“K-Kira,” Lydia slurred, struggling in a haze to peer back at the truck that she was slowly being dragged away from. Scott’s truck was twisted around the tree trunk, the hood crumpled like aluminum foil and the whole vehicle slightly tilted to the side. The source of the smoke was clearly wafting from there, but she couldn’t see Kira. “Nooo…” she groaned, letting her head fall back. She felt exhausted, as if she’d run a marathon, and her ribs _hurt_.

She heard a little sigh above her. “Your little kitsune friend is fine. I was just trying to get you to stop. I wasn’t _trying_ to cause an accident, I’m not an _animal_ -” she laughed lightly, “I just wanted to talk to you. See if you’ve changed your mind.”

Lydia, even in a haze, felt herself becoming furious. Whether it was intentional or not, she’d caused an accident and nearly gotten Kira and her killed. “I haven’t,” she retorted with surprising lucidity.

“We’ll see,” Kalku said, seemingly undeterred by the response. Lydia immediately saw why when Kalku suddenly gripped her under the arms and hauled her up.

“Oh, my, look at that.”

Lydia looked and saw they were in front of her neighbour’s lodge. And then she saw him. Stiles.

She couldn’t actually see his face- it was too dark, and they were too far away- but she’d recognize his silhouette anywhere, and that white tee that was especially visible in the dark. Except, there was something different about him. He wasn’t walking with his usual lilt. No, he was _prowling_. That was really the only way to describe it, the way he seemed to glide across the moonlit field like he owned the night.

He sort of did.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wells who live just down the road,” Kalku said conversationally while Lydia was registering all this. “You’d think they’d keep better tabs on their children who’ve snuck off to spend the night running around this property.” Her voice suddenly dripped with false concern. “Who knows what kind of trouble they’d run into?”

Lydia tried to pull away from Kalku, but she was too weakened. Kalku made an amused sound at her feeble attempt and continued.

“I’m afraid they already saw the wolf. See, they ran into that shed, that one Stiles is walking towards right now?” Lydia’s breath came out in short gasps as she saw what this was coming to. “I wonder which one he’ll kill first. The pretty redhead? She kind of looks like you. Or maybe her little brother. Or maybe he’ll rip off both their heads at once.” The witch smiled innocently at Lydia.

“Let go of me,” Lydia snarled, tugging at Kalku’s arms, her embrace a mockery of a hug. Kalku merely tightened her grip.

“Nothing you do will help him,” Kalku said calmly. “But you know _I_ can. I can save them.”

“Screw you,” Lydia hissed, and then raised her voice into a scream without warning. “ _Stiles! Stiles_!”

He didn’t even turn his head, although Lydia’s scream was so loud that it was still ringing in her ears.

“He can’t hear you, banshee,” Kalku said in a sing-song voice. “Just give me what I want.”

Stiles was approaching the shed door, and now from here she could see his glowing red irises in the shadows of his face. Lydia struggled again to no avail. “What _do_ you want?” she gasped, humoring her finally.

“A promise,” Kalku breathed into her ear, and it faintly occurred to Lydia that maybe she wasn’t the only person here who was desperate. “That you’ll help me. I’ll even get you back to your universe. See? I’m not the bad guy, Lydia.” She nodded over Lydia’s shoulder at the scene in front of them. “But he is. Your choice.”

What kind of choice was that?

All she could do was watch and let her mind sort through her limited options- _god_ , where were all the werewolves when she actually needed them? But her time had seemed to run out before she could really sort anything out. Because suddenly the shed door had swung open before Stiles even reached it and the two children ran out, apparently trying to make a break for it.

“No!” Lydia screamed, struggling as hard as she could against Kalku, but once again, it was like she couldn’t move at all.

Stiles reached out almost lazily and snagged the girl’s ankle, sending her tumbling into the grass. Her little brother ran into the woods, safe for now.

“ _No_!” Lydia shrieked again as Stiles- no, not _Stiles_ , the _monster_ in him- stalked closer and seized that little girl by the hair, wrenching her upright.

“Make a choice, Lydia,” Kalku said, sounding almost bored.

Lydia half-sobbed in defeat, sagging against the restraining arms as Stiles’ arm rose in a sickeningly slow, wide arc that it would follow on the way down with his claws out, and she could see that little redhead’s mouth opening in a silent scream of terror-

And what frightened Lydia more than any of that was the vague tickling sensation in her throat.

Like she might want to scream.

And that was it for her. There was no choice to _make_.

“Alright! Alright! Just- _please_!” Lydia begged, hating how this woman had reduced her to a pleading mess, but not really _caring_ at the moment.

The grip on her tightened momentarily. “You’ll help me unleash the Nemeton for myself?”

“Yes!” Lydia didn’t even know what she was saying at this point. She was crying and making nonsensical sounds and tears were blurring her vision. And yet she was making a deal with the devil and some calm, rational part of her knew it, but that part of her was not currently in charge. All she knew was that across the field a little girl was crying in the face of her death, and the face of her death would wake up tomorrow and his _soul_ would be absolutely annihilated.

Lydia didn’t really mind trading.

There was smugness when Kalku spoke next. “I’ll be in touch.”

And then she was gone.

With the support she’d been leaning against suddenly gone, Lydia fell to her knees with a cry. But the urge to scream was gone also. Heart in her throat, she looked up.

Stiles was on the ground, lying on his back, motionless. The little girl that had been moments away from her death had taken off, flying as if the devil were on her heels, which, technically, well- she wasn’t wrong.

Lydia called out weakly, “Wait-“ but the girl had disappeared into the woods on the opposite side of the clearing. Lydia could only hope one of the werewolves would find her before some other predator of the night did.

It wasn’t her only problem right now. Stiles was stirring. Lydia gathered her strength, ignoring the burning that still resided in her ribs, and stumbled forward, finally making her way across the clearing.

He was hunched on his hands and knees when she reached him, back bowed, head down so the only indication that he wasn’t himself was the pointed tips of his ears. But then he _growled_.

It sounded far more wolf than human, and nothing like Stiles at all; she faltered in her steps, her fist closing very tightly around the pouch of wolfsbane in her pocket.

She willed her breathing to calm, and stopped only a few feet away. “Stiles?...”

At the sound of her voice, he visibly tensed. She watched his clawed hands that had previously been clutching at the dirt curl in on themselves into tight fists, and blood welled from his palms.  The lines of his shoulders were taut under his grass-stained shirt.

Then he spoke.

“ _Run_.”

And she might have, except for the desperate sound of his voice; it was Stiles with an undertone of the wolf’s animalistic growl. But he was there. He was _there_. So she remained rooted to the spot.

“Lydia,” he said again, and she could hear him saying it through gritted teeth. “Leave.”

“I’m never leaving,” she responded immediately, the words flying out of her mouth without her really thinking about it. She sunk to her knees, still staying a respectful distance away. “I’m never abandoning you.”

He was silent for a long moment, perhaps digesting this, and: “Then give me that wolfsbane before I kill you.”

His tone was flat and matter-of-fact but Lydia didn’t flinch at the words. He must have smelt it. Her hand was still in her pocket, and she scooped the wolfsbane in her palm but did nothing with it. Yet.

A tremor seemed to pass through his spine at her inaction. “Lydia,” he said, and his voice was rough. “Please.”

She hesitated.

He finally lifted his head and the moonlight threw his face into stark relief for a single second. Lydia struggled with herself in order not to gasp at the sight of him. The inhuman snout, the glowing red eyes, the wickedly sharp fangs were all so out of place on him- and he snarled at her then, “ _Please_!”

She could do nothing but open her palm, and the breeze that had wafted through the forest all night did the work for her.

The wolfsbane dust drifted to him, and she could pinpoint the exact moment that it hit because he almost seemed to relax, as absurd as it was, for a moment. Like he didn’t have to fight anymore.

And then he was taking stuttered breaths, and he clutched at his own throat with clawed hands, and agonized keening sounds that stumbled from his lips. Lydia immediately crawled over to him, and this time he didn’t fight her as she tried to remove his hands from his own throat, hold them in her own, stroking his knuckles lightly with her thumbs.

At this proximity she could see that he was entirely human again. But when the moonlight caught his face this time, she saw his whisky coloured eyes were still absent.

“Shhh,” she heard herself saying in a soothing tone, and his angry pants turned into pained breaths, growing steadier. She focused her gaze on his eyes, staring into the endless red that had taken over his beautiful brown irises, trying to soothe him.

His arms seemed to buckle under his own weight but Lydia was ready and caught him in her arms, holding him to her chest as he sagged forward. She held his face to her chest and marveled in the puffs of breath that hit her skin.

He trembled all over, and she could tell he was in pain when he spoke. “Did I…” she heard him swallow thickly and try again. “Did I…?”

She knew what he was asking, though, and held him a little tighter. “No,” she answered firmly. “No, you didn’t.” There was no need for him to know why. Not now.

She heard a little sigh of relief – “Thanks,” he whispered, and she didn’t respond. There was nothing to say.

He merely breathed for a few more seconds- she could tell he struggled, and she wanted so badly to take away his pain, somehow.

“You are,” he said softly, and she realized she’d said that last part out loud.

She stroked her hand through his sweaty hair. “And yet here _you_ are, still sounding like an elephant is sitting on your chest,” she said dryly with an effort to keep emotion out of her voice.

“It doesn’t hurt so much when you do that,” he said, finally lifting his head to look into her eyes earnestly, and why did he have to go and _say_ things like that? She didn’t want the feelings that suddenly tumbled, unfettered, in her stomach when her hands were stroking his cheek. She didn’t want to feel this for him. She didn’t want- she didn’t want to see his eyes, the adoration that clearly shone there without the expectation of being reciprocated, perhaps not even _knowing_ that she reciprocated-

No, she didn’t. She definitely didn’t.

“I’m sorry for today,” he muttered, sleepily.

“I know. Shhh.” Distantly, she heard shouts- familiar voices. The others had finally found them. Too damn late, she might add, but she was too tired to be angry.

“No, really. I was being a- a-” He seemed at a loss, as if struggling for an appropriate insult that would suit his mistake effectively. She had to smile to herself.

“Perfectly normal werewolf,” Lydia finished for him. And she’d dealt with that before. Her brief make-out session with Scott flashed through her mind.

“Werewolves suck,” he muttered, leaning against her collarbone and a small smile tugging at his lips as he looked at her. His eyes were fading to amber now.

Lydia barely heard Scott approach behind her, but when he made a sound, Lydia said in a trance-like sort of voice, “We were in an accident. Kira’s just beyond the treeline in the truck. I think she’s unconscious.”

She heard Scott swear under his breath and turn to run across the field in the direction that she’d pointed.

Stiles furrowed his brow at her. She could tell he was already healing from the wolfsbane. Maybe alphas had a stronger tolerance. “What happened?”

“Deer in front of the truck,” she lied easily. “Unlucky.”

His eyes searched hers, even as he struggled to sit up. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she lied again. She didn’t expect it when he lifted himself upright, leaned his head against her shoulder and gently cradled her hands in one of his. And unexpectedly, the persistent ache in her ribs became steadily fainter. She looked down to their joined hands and saw the black, spidery veins crawling their way up his forearms.

She half-heartedly tried to tug her hands away even as her body sighed in relief. “Stiles, you’re not even fully healed -”

He made a humming sound. “Lydia.” Then he nuzzled into her cheek, his lips brushing against her skin sending tiny shockwaves through her as he whispered, “I don’t _fucking_ care.” His eyes were heavy with emotion when he pulled away to look at her, and as always it took her breath away.

 _God_ , his eyes.

They’d all been through so much. They’d all been changed by the monstrous things they’d experienced. Stiles’ transformation had just been a little more subtle as the years of high school went on. He was just a little less lighthearted, a little less easy to laugh. A little more cynical and paranoid and a little more quiet.

And perhaps she wouldn’t have noticed. Except, sometimes; when he looked at her like _that_ , it was like she could see the echo of sophomore Stiles in his eyes, sunnily staring back at her, and it only reminded her of what they’d all lost.

And what more they had to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was super long and I could have split it again but I decided not to be a dick for once haha. Unlike Kalku. Who you undoubtedly have questions about, and those questions will be answered. At some point. 
> 
> And oh, god, thank you SO much for your comments. You know how much they mean to me. Let me know what you thought of this one!


	10. a prior engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's kind of filler, sorry. A necessary evil! but still, I hope you enjoy :)  
> PS- if you guys ever notice grammar errors, feel free to let me know! I don't always catch them.

“Tell it to me again,” Scott said, rubbing his forehead as he paced.

As Lydia, standing next to Scott, launched robotically into her story, Stiles had to glance up at her from where he was sitting on the couch in the lake house living room, hands clasped with Kira’s as he took her pain. It was the least he could do, since the accident was indirectly his fault. The deer that Lydia said had run in front of the truck had probably been spooked by him.

Him, running around trying to kill things.

He repressed an inward shudder, trying desperately not to think about it. He  _so_  did not need a panic attack right now.

“… and then both of the kids managed to run away at the same time that I got to Stiles and poisoned him with wolfsbane.”

“What happened to the kids?” Allison inquired on Kira’s other side, wiping blood away from a cut on the kitsune’s face.

“They got away,” Lydia said with a shrug. “Isaac’s out looking for them right now to make sure they got home safely.”

Stiles tried his best to swallow down his guilt. He’d hurt Scott- He’d seen him nursing his arm- an act that he would never forgive himself for, but there was _more_. He’d nearly killed Lydia’s neighbours. He was about to do it, in fact- he had felt the instinct rising in him when he held that girl, a soulless instinct that he was horrified to find was  _familiar_ -

And then, somehow, he’d felt a dull blow in his chest and he’d been thrown like a ragdoll to the ground. At least, that was how he remembered it, but Lydia was firmly telling Scott that he had just been trying to resist the urge and had hesitated, allowing the girl to run away.

He had been in such a haze, he wouldn’t be surprised if he just hallucinated, but… it didn’t really feel like what had happened.

But then again, why would Lydia lie about it?

He cleared his throat and Lydia looked at him, her face a mask of indifference that had set into place not long after she’d found him. “What?”

He wasn’t buying it. “So how did I get out in the first place?”

She spoke in near monotone. “Kalku was there.”

“What?” He immediately sat up, letting go of Kira’s hands and focusing his attention on Lydia, at high alert. “What do you mean, Kalku was there? As in Morgan Lefebvre?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia snapped, her eyes sliding away from him again to stare at the floor. “She showed up as Kalku, didn’t she? She freed you.”

So that was what that creepy voice had been. Everything was slowly clicking into place. No wonder it had been terrifyingly familiar to him. “Why-”

“Lydia,” Scott interrupted carefully, “how did you know that she did this when you weren’t even there?”

Lydia’s face wavered, a mess of conflicted emotions briefly crossing her face before finally settling on resignation.

“She went to me first.”

This was news to everyone, if the slight intakes of breath were any indication.

“What did she do? Did she threaten you?” Stiles said sharply.

A brief pause. “Yes,” she replied, tone inscrutable.

Stiles was halfway off the couch before Lydia put her hands up and said sternly, “She didn’t hurt me. I’m  _fine_. We’ve already been over this.”

“Yeah, well, you lied the first time,” Stiles muttered, but decided to take her for her word and sat slowly back down into the cushions, taking Kira’s hand again. There wasn’t much pain to take at this point, with Kira’s fast healing rate.

“What did she want?” Scott asked with concern.

Lydia hugged herself with her arms, staring off into space when she answered. “The same. My help to harness the Nemeton. I said no.”

“And?” Scott prompted.

“So she set Stiles loose.”

It was quiet as everyone let those words sink in.

Stiles bit his lip. Kalku was a fucking menace in this universe too. All she wanted was the Nemeton, it appeared, and that she’d do anything to get it.

And threatening Lydia was how she’d decided to go about it. And then trying to hurt her- through  _him_.

Stiles hated not being in control, a trait that he’d picked up from the good ol’ Nogitsune days. And this? This was the most epic loss of control. He felt like the wound had been ripped open all over again.

He was going to tear this witch apart for doing that to him and for doing that to  _Lydia_.

He was almost unsurprised by the unexpectedly savage thought that flitted through his head, no doubt full-moon induced. Or maybe it wasn’t. The sun had risen over the horizon more than three hours ago.

Maybe he was really just that psychotic.

Involuntarily, his gaze flickered to Allison on Kira’s other side, the woman’s dark head bent as she wiped at the deep cut on Kira’s arm. The wedding ring on that hand catching the light and winking, mockingly, at Stiles.

He felt more certain than ever that  _somehow_ \- it was his fault, what happened to Allison in his universe. And he honestly didn’t know how he was going to be able to live with himself knowing that.

As if feeling his eyes on her, Allison glanced up and at Stiles; when she saw him looking, she gave him a slight smile, the action deepening the dimples on her cheeks.

Stiles couldn’t find the energy to muster one up in return, and instead lowered his gaze.

Kira, meanwhile, gently pried her hand from his. “Stiles, I’m fine now. Thank you.” Her voice was sincere.

Stiles coughed. He felt, maybe irrationally, like everyone was looking at him. With unease. He didn’t blame them. “Yeah. Um. Of course.” He suddenly felt like he couldn’t sit on this couch for a moment longer and made to stand up.

At that same moment, to his relief (before he had to make up some lame excuse to get the hell out and keep the attention off of him), the front door opened and closed, and a moment later, Isaac walked in.

“Did you find her?” Lydia said, alert now. Stiles fell back into the couch pillows with a sigh.

Isaac scratched his curly-haired head, looking vaguely puzzled. “Yeah, her brother and her were almost at home when I found them,” he replied. “And they seemed perfectly happy. Like they didn’t remember anything at all.”

Stiles was  _sure_  he imagined the brief look of approval that crossed Lydia’s face.

“That’s… weird,” Scott muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Maybe the memory has been repressed?” Allison offered, with a frown on her pretty face as she considered the information. “That kind of thing can be pretty traumatic for a child. Maybe it’s for the best.”

Stiles felt a fresh wave of guilt seep over him at her compassion-filled words. Actually every time she spoke it felt like a stab to his own gut, which was funny since it was Allison that…

He squashed the thought down firmly before it could get anywhere. His sense of humor was fucked up and he needed therapy, what else was new.

“Personally, I’m more concerned about what this Kalku is going to do next,” Isaac mused.

Scott nodded. “We need to be on guard until we figure out what her plan is. No one in the pack goes anywhere alone if we can help it from now on.”

Stiles thought about making a crack about going to the bathroom but decided against it. And they said he hadn’t grown up at all.

Lydia diverted his thoughts when she spoke, “She’s dangerous. Do not underestimate her,” she enunciated. Her tone was… he couldn’t really describe it, but it was _off_. Stiles looked at her curiously, but she refused to catch his gaze.

A cell phone rang.

Stiles jumped about a foot into the air when it did, because it came from his own jeans pocket and he’d been so focused on Lydia in the moment. “Oh, my  _fucking_  god,” he complained, one hand over his furiously pounding heart. He was way too high strung right now. Allison giggled at his tone.

He fished the phone out of his pocket with difficulty, aware everyone was watching as he squirmed to get it out without actually standing up. Lydia watched the spectacle with raised eyebrows but he saw a smile tugging at the corners of her lips anyway.

Bolstered, he looked at the caller ID with a somewhat lighter outlook before it turned to confusion. “Who the fuck is this?”

Kira grabbed the phone from him. “It says ‘Dorothy’,” she read. It didn’t ring any bells with Stiles. This wasn’t someone he was familiar with from his universe. From the way Lydia was pursing her lips, he could tell she was on the same page (for once).

Allison stiffened. “Oh, no,” she said, at the same time Scott muttered, “Ah, shit.”

Stiles’ eyebrows flew up. “Scotty, I don’t like it when you swear, it makes me feel like bad things are going to happen,” he said. “Just spit it out.”

“That’s the party planner,” Allison hissed, directing her words at Lydia.

“The party planner?” Stiles repeated blankly.

“The engagement party planner,” Allison said. Meanwhile, the phone continued to ring incessantly. “The engagement party for you and Lydia. I completely forgot,  _it’s tonight_.”

There was a long pause, and Stiles did not dare to look at Lydia.

Engagment. Fucking. Party. In the midst of all the craziness, he’d almost forgotten that they were engaged here. Engaged to be _married_. Stiles, to Lydia Martin. The notion was ridiculous. It was also literally his dreams come true.

 But he heard her sputtering; he could sense her immediate discomfort, and that was all it took for him to resolve to make sure this did not happen.

“Well, are you going to answer it?” Isaac said finally. “Wasn’t our Stiles saying she was a bit of a hardass and gets really ticked off if you don’t answer her calls?”

Great. Like they needed more hardasses in their lives. Stiles grabbed the phone back, bouncing it nervously in the palm of his hand. “What should I say? What shou-”

“Just say you’re cancelling-” Allison tried; Stiles, now panicked, press the call button.

Everyone fell silent immediately as Stiles answered. “Ah, ahem. Hello?”

The voice on the line was clearly irritated. “Ah, thank you for finally picking up, Mr. Stilinski. I’m sorry that answering my calls is so low on your priority list on  _the day of your engagement party_.”

Stiles winced at the scathing tone. “Ah. Right.” He was sort of very glad she wasn’t on speaker. At this exact moment, Allison chose to mouth at him to put it on speaker. He looked at the ceiling like he hadn’t heard.

“Um, so-”

He was interrupted. “I only called to confirm that we’re decorating the rooftop with lights? That’s what Ms. Martin wanted, is it not?”

“Oh, was it?” he said unthinkingly, filing that information away like an idiot before snapping back to his senses. “Um,  _rooftop_?” He squawked, barely able to register this.

The voice on the other end was very impatient. “Yes, the rooftop restaurant that you and your  _fiancee_ , bless her soul for taking pity on you, chose for the party.”

“Riiiiight,” he said, the word long and drawn out. “Right. About that. We’ve, ah, we’ve decided actually that we have to canc-”

“No,” Lydia said suddenly. For a stupid moment, Stiles thought she meant that she wanted to marry him. Then she spoke again, and he jerked his head to look at her with his hand over the receiver. Her face was blank, but it wasn’t carefully blank as it had been before. It was truly, truly… blank.

“Don’t cancel it,” she said, and her voice had a dreamlike quality to it. “We’re going.”

Scott glanced at Stiles with a helpless look. In fact, everyone was looking at Stiles. It was his move, apparently.

He licked his lips. “You sure, Lyds?” His voice was pathetically hopeful sounding, even to him.

She didn’t answer, but stared him down solemnly with wide green eyes.

“Of course,” Stiles muttered, and turned his face back to the phone hastily, where he could still hear the tinny voice in the speaker shouting at him.

He cleared his throat, now speaking loudly over the woman’s yelling. “Ah, never mind! Yes, the lights are a go. Lydia loves lights. All the lights, light it up like a Christmas tree,” he prattled off, and maybe he was babbling but he was  _flustered_ , okay, so let him live.

She was silent for a moment before speaking, and when she did it sounded rather deadly. “I expect to see you both here at four o’clock sharp,” the woman hissed. “The event doesn’t start until five but we need to make sure everything is in order. And do  _not_  wear any hideous plaid like you did the last two times we met.”

Stiles swallowed. “Yes ma’am.”

“My name is Dorothy.” Then, with that, she hung up abruptly. Stiles sat frozen with the phone in his hand for a good five seconds before finally lowering it from his ear.

Then Scott chortled. “Smooth.”

Stiles threw the phone onto the coffee table, ignoring his friend’s jibe before standing up and approaching Lydia. She still stood where she had been before, but she was unnaturally still, eyes glazed and expression void.

“Lydia?” he asked carefully.

She blinked, and suddenly she was there again, eyes keening with intelligence and life. “What?”

He let out a breath, letting his hand fall to his side. “We lost you for a few seconds there.”

She merely blinked. “You did? What happened?”

“You said not to cancel the party. Apparently we’re going.” Stiles felt like a piece of shit at the brief panicked look that flitted across her face. “Banshee thing, I guess.”

She took that admirably, with only a swallow, but her voice betrayed her. “Who’s going to be there?” Lydia asked to the room in an unnaturally high voice, crossing her arms over her front and looking anxious.

There was a beat where no one responded. “Everyone,” Allison responded finally.

Stiles chanced a look at Lydia; she was looking a little green. “Define ‘everyone’,” he said, trying to help her out.

Allison shrugged helplessly. “Like, everyone? Everyone you two know who’s in town?” She shrugged helplessly at Stiles’ speechlessness. “I’m sorry. Lydia really wanted to go all out.” Stiles looked at Lydia, who honestly looked like Christmas had been cancelled, and then up at the ceiling to idly wonder which of the many shitty things he’d done had karma’d him into this ironic situation.

Everyone was silent for a few moments. Then Scott yawned. “We should head back to town and figure this out.”

There were murmurs of agreement. Stiles didn’t say anything, just watched Lydia as the group filtered out.

Lydia made to turn around and leave with Allison, too, but Stiles finally opened his mouth.

“Hey, Lydia, wait, can I talk to you for a sec?”

She turned around, eyebrows raised and trademark defensive Lydia Martin pose in place. “Yes, what?” Allison looked between the two of them, and the charged silence that followed, and muttered something about being in the next room before she made a hasty exit.

Stiles didn’t waste time while they were alone. “I could tell you were lying back there,” He said, watching her reactions carefully as he spoke. “About what happened with everything. There’s something you’re not saying. You can tell me, you know that, right?”

A beat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone was perfectly blasé.

He half-laughed at her attempt at neutrality. “That’s bull.” He made sure his voice rang with surety, and Lydia seemed to struggle with herself for several moments before speaking.

“If you don’t like it then don’t listen to my heartbeat,” She finally hissed, and turned away, curls flouncing.

Stiles caught her elbow before she could take a step; she didn’t twist her head to look at him but she froze when he spoke. “I wasn’t.” Because it honestly hadn’t even occurred to him.

She didn’t move so he kept going, gently now. “I know you, Lydia. I’ve never needed special powers for that. So whatever it is you think you can’t tell me, I hope you come to your senses real quick.”

That seemed to move her back into action, “Maybe _you_ should come to your senses,” she said haughtily, giving his hand on her arm a very pointed look. Before he could register this rather low blow at his crush, she was shaking it off and flouncing in the direction of Allison.

“Hey! This conversation isn’t over,” he called feebly. She didn’t respond, or maybe she didn’t hear. He kind of stood there a minute, trying to figure out when everything had gotten so fucked up- the moment of his birth, he concluded finally-, when Scott came up behind him and clapped his hands on his shoulders. “Give it a rest,” he advised. “The you from this universe didn’t get Lydia by running after her all the time.”

Stiles dragged a hand over his face. Apparently his other self was a miracle worker. “How _did_ I get Lydia?”

Scott was ready with an answer. “You didn’t,” He replied promptly. “You guys got each other. And isn’t that better?” 

What a sap. And yet, Stiles had no response. He was so _unbelievably_ jealous of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heheh FLUFF is on the horizon... along with... other things...  
> Comments are very much appreciated and feed my muse. And my muse is, one might say... insatiable ;)


	11. of two worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in UNIVERSE 1.0, Scott and the pack make some shocking discoveries about Kalku. And meanwhile, our Stiles and Lydia are introduced at what must be the most awkward engagement party of all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO FRIENDS. I completely forgot in my last update to mention that I had exam week and so didn't have the time/energy to focus on writing! I'm sorry for not giving a proper heads-up, and for the wait. We should be going pretty steady in terms of updates now again :)

**UNIVERSE 1.0**

“Let’s start a drinking game.”

Scott glanced up from where he was lifting random photo frames to look at Cora. When Stiles had suggested snooping around Morgan Lefebvre’s old home in search of clues, Scott had been all for it. But now that they were here, aimlessly wandering around a small, abandoned house, it didn’t seem like they were likely to find anything.  “You know we can’t get drunk, right?”

Cora ignored him and pressed on. “Every time they kiss or look all gooey-eyed at each other we take a swig.” She nodded to where, a short distance away, Stiles had leaned forward to peck Lydia on the mouth.

Scott suppressed a sigh.

“If we’re talking about them looking gooey-eyed at each other we really should have started this game years ago,” Isaac commented as he brushed past Scott to examine the photos on the wall. “Hey, this has gotta be her husband, right?”

Scott glanced at the picture frame Isaac pointed at. Morgan Lefebvre and a blond-haired man, standing side-by-side and grinning. “Yeah, I guess,” he said with a  shrug.

“That’s John,” Lydia confirmed, coming up behind him. “She showed me a picture once.”

“If that’s not _her_ husband than who is it?” Stiles questioned, leaning forward to get a better look over Lydia’s shoulder. When she glanced at him, he almost absent-mindedly rubbed his cheek against hers. Lydia’s eyes warmed.

Isaac made a poorly disguised gagging sound behind them as he rifled through drawers.

Scott grinned to himself before saying, “Maybe it’s just a fake photo.”

“But the dude has to be _someone_ ,” Stiles pressed. “Or, I mean, _was_ someone before he kicked the bucket. She can’t make someone up out of thin air, right, Lydia?”

“Right,” she agreed. Stiles beamed. “That’s not possible.”

They fell into silence, mulling over the only interesting thing they’d found so far; at least until there was a banging sound behind them followed by a muffled curse.

Scott turned around, eyebrows raised. Isaac was clutching his foot, hopping on one leg, with Cora looking thoroughly unimpressed beside him.

“What happened?” Scott asked, looking between the two of them.

“Idiot stubbed his toe on the fireplace,” Cora said dismissively. Isaac shot her an indignant look. “I did not! That brick is hanging out farther than the rest of them, it’s not my fault –” As he spoke, Cora had stiffened as if realizing something and was now bending down, examining the accused brick in question, and Scott, catching on to her line of thinking, came closer.

Cora pulled on the brick a few times before it finally lodged free. She gave a satisfied grunt of approval before bending her head to peer into the gaping hole in the wall that she’d just uncovered.

Scott waited a beat but the curiosity was too much. “Anything there?”

She sounded deflated. “No, it was just a stupid- wait!” Her voice caught an edge of excitement as she bent her head further. “There’s something there. There’s _definitely_ something there.”

Scott dropped to his knees beside her, trying to get a look as well, but she was already reaching in with her arm. “It’s really far back, I don’t know if I can… maybe if I use my claws…” She twisted her arm a few more times, an expression of concentration on her features before she finally grinned victoriously and pulled her arm out, covered in soot.

Everyone leaned in at the same time to see what she was clutching in her hand.

“A book,” Stiles said, sounding disappointed.

Well, he wasn’t wrong- it was a small, black one; about the size of Scott’s hand, but it was thick. And dusty; Cora coughed. It looked unassuming enough, but Scott knew better.

Cora opened the book carefully; the spine made an ominous cracking sound as she did so. “It’s… I can’t read it, it’s some other language,” she said, looking puzzled.

Stiles reached for it immediately. “Let Lydia see it.” Cora passed it over, and Stiles passed it to Lydia, slinging his arm over her shoulder as he did.

Lydia looked carefully at the inscriptions as well, and Scott looked at it too from behind her. There was nothing familiar about it.

Lydia voiced his thoughts, sounding puzzled. “I don’t know it either.”

“Lydia, you’re supposed to know everything,” Stiles said, sounding almost awed that she was stumped.

She huffed at him in faint annoyance. “I don’t.” She glanced back at the pages as she flipped through them. “It’s not a language I’ve ever seen before. But…” her fingers trailed slowly over the inscriptions, “it’s not a modern or well known one either, I can say that for sure.”

Stiles sighed loudly as Lydia continued to flip through the book. “Does _any_ supernatural creature know how to write in plain old English?”

“English isn’t sexy enough for us,” Scott teased his best friend.

“Says the guy who spent a summer in high school reading classics while he worked out,” Stiles shot back. Scott bit back a grin (apparently he’d done that in the other universe, as well).

“Are you two… flirting?” Cora asked with mild curiosity and amusement- she was still relatively new to the pack dynamic- but before Scott could confirm it, Lydia whapped his arm.

“Look!”

Scott bent his head at the same time that Stiles did, and since they were both looking over the same shoulder, they ended up butting heads. Stiles let out a muttered curse and Lydia rolled her eyes. Scott pressed ahead to look at what Lydia was pointing at.

There was an image drawn in the book… “A pentagram,” Scott vocalized, raising his eyebrows.

“Seriously? A pentagram.” Stiles rubbed his head grouchily. “How much more witchy can you get than that?”

“I just wish I could read the caption,” Lydia said, sounding frustrated.

Scott knew that Lydia had an innate thirst for knowledge; and innate need to understand things, and the fact that she couldn’t understand _this_ was definitely getting on her last nerve, he could tell. “Let’s send it to Deaton,” he suggested. “He can probably dig up some info for us. Or at least figure out what language it is.” Lydia’s expression cleared slightly, and she nodded.

“Great idea, now can we get out of here?” Isaac complained.

“No, we’re just going to wait for you to trip over the next clue,” Stiles snickered as Cora shoved the brick back in place hastily and stood up.

“Let’s go,” Scott said loudly over Isaac’s “shut the hell up”. He honestly wondered how Stiles faired as a leader over in the other universe.

Then again, he thought as he watched Lydia intertwine her hand with Stiles’, maybe he had a little help.

* * *

 

**UNIVERSE 237**

“So.”

Lydia glanced at Stiles out of the corner of her eye. The two of them were waiting sort of awkwardly inside the building, just downstairs from the rooftop. Apparently they were supposed to make an ‘entrance’ or something like that. And Lydia was nervous as hell. It wasn’t just the strange heavy feeling that had settled in the bottom of her gut ever since she’d apparently gone into a fugue state and told them all that they absolutely had to go to this party- what was _that_ all about, by the way- but it was also a case of butterflies.

He cast a glance at her, maybe noticing that. “Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?” he commented.

She snorted unattractively; she knew she looked good. She was wearing a light salmon-coloured dress that flared at her hips and ended mid-thigh, pumps to match, perfectly curled hair and she _knew_ her makeup was deadly. “‘Beautiful, _tonight’_? As opposed to what?”

He stuttered over his own words as he tried to correct himself and Lydia smiled internally.

“Uh- well, what I should have said is, you look beautiful tonight, _as always_ -”

“Stiles.”

“Yes.”

“Shut up,” Lydia said, fondly. He did, making a comical sealing motion with his hand, and she did her own sneaky appraisal of him.

The two hadn’t talked much once they’d gotten home- to _their_ home- but Lydia had rooted through the closet until she found a white dress shirt that wasn’t wrinkled, which was more difficult than one might expect, and pretty much ordered him to shower and put it on. He hadn’t protested.

But he’d drawn the line at a tie- which she was fine with, frankly, since she liked seeing his collarbone peek out- and he’d even made an attempt to style his hair without her asking him to, which was appreciated but there was honestly nothing more attractive then his perpetual bedhead to her. (Apparently him being a slob turned her on.)

She didn’t voice any of that. And if he could smell her attraction, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it.

“Ahem.”

This was a new voice; Lydia and Stiles turned around simultaneously at the sound.

She was a rather short, stout woman- shorter than Lydia- with a dark-haired bob, stylish glasses perched on the edge of her thin nose, and a frown on her red-painted mouth. As she’d been introduced when they had arrived, Lydia knew this was Dorothy, the party planner. “Did I mention how glad I am that you managed to wrangle your fiancé into a suit, Ms Martin,” Dorothy said snidely, and then turned suddenly to bark at Stiles: “ _But why aren’t you wearing a tie? What do you think this is, a frat party_?”

“Uh,” Stiles stammered, his voice holding an element of fear, and Lydia decided to help him out although it might have been entertaining just to watch him squirm.

She slapped her hand onto his chest, noting his little jump of surprise when she touched him. “I told him not to wear the tie,” she said primly. “Keep it casual.”

Dorothy nodded like this non-answer made any difference, now sounding perfectly calm. “Makes sense. Well,” she said, ignoring Stiles’ indignant sputtering, “most of your guests have made it here in one piece, so it’s time for you two to make your entrance.” She nodded towards the door that led to the rooftop and raised her eyebrows in something of a challenge. “Ready?”

Lydia could feel Stiles’ gaze heavy on her profile and willed herself to keep her reactions under control. Surely he must have felt her heart beating crazily fast.She just wasn’t sure for what reasons, anymore. Everything was confusing, and all she could do was fruitlessly blame it on being in a different body.

She knew, deep down, that wasn’t really true, no matter what she’d told Allison.

Stiles spoke up, voice low and measured. “You still want to do this?” She turned around to meet his eyes; his expression was earnest, ready to back out with her even at the very last moment if that was what she so chose, she knew. He always put the control in her hands.

She pondered the question for a moment. Her banshee powers had apparently decided that she needed to be here- she didn’t want to think for what, and hoped fervently no one was going to die tonight. Scott and Stiles had prepared for that possibility, she knew- the pack was all going to be at the party, keeping an eye out.

“Yes,” she said firmly, and unconsciously reached out to take his hand and laced her fingers with his. He searched her gaze for a brief moment, maybe looking for something, some sign of wavering. He must not have found any, because his grip on her tightened and he nodded almost imperceptibly. Whatever tonight would be, they would face it together, just like they always did.

And then they were pushing through the door and climbing the steps into the warm, barely stirring evening air of the rooftop.

Lydia scarcely had time to take in the scene before her- a small crowd of faces turning their way, lights strewn about, tables laden with hors d’oeuvres- before a light smattering of applause broke out at the entrance.

“Please welcome the future Mr. and Mrs. Stilinski, and enjoy the party!” a voice boomed from the speakers, and Lydia dimly recognized Danny standing at the far side of the rooftop holding a microphone and grinning, the MC for the evening.

There were whoops and wolf-whistles all around as the two of them walked slowly into the party, steps in sync with one another without even trying.

Lydia realized she probably looked a little frozen so she forced a smile on her face- the confident, sugary one she’d perfected in high school- and waved at a few people she recognized with her free hand.

Scott managed to get to them before anyone else. He nodded at Lydia and leaned over and muttered to Stiles- “We’ve told all the right people about… what’s going on.” He grimaced in apology to his best friend. “The rest of them, you’re just going to have to stick it out.”

“Yeah. Okay,” was all Stiles seemed to be able to get out.

“Your hand is getting sweaty,” she noted when Scott slipped away.

His voice was a bit terse. “I wonder why.”

That was the only conversation they had to themselves for a while, because then they were descended upon.

Lydia smiled her way through several well-wishers who didn’t know jack shit about the supernatural- one being a friend of her mother’s, a woman that was all about the book clubs and red wine. And from the looks of it she’d already gotten into the wine tonight.

“Lydia dear,” she said, batting her heavily mascaraed eyelashes, “So this is him?” She giggled, the sound light and airy as she appraised Stiles.

Stiles, for his part, looked like was about to be physically ill. “This is him,” Lydia confirmed, plastering on her sugary grin, “he’s the one.” She mentally gagged at the dreaminess she’d injected into her own voice.

“He _looks_ it,” The woman tittered thoughtfully, and Stiles blushed a little bit. “Oh, look at that, handsome _and_ humble,” she laughed, patting Lydia on the cheek. “Good luck keeping that one, honey. When’s the wedding?”

Lydia had no idea. Luckily before Stiles could open his mouth and say something stupid, Danny appeared in front of them, a big grin on his face. “Stiles and Lydia, getting married. It’s been a long time coming.” Her mother’s friend sauntered away, a pout on her face.

Lydia opened her mouth to thank him but he spoke again.

“It’s too bad the lovebirds aren’t with us right now, eh?” He winked at them.

Lydia closed her mouth and Stiles spoke, sounding relieved of one less person to lie to. “Scott told you, huh?”

Danny shrugged. “Bits of it. He knows I like to keep tabs. But most of the people here don’t, so you guys are in for an awkward night.” He gestured to the crowd milling around them.

“Yes, thank you for the encouragement,” Stiles muttered sarcastically; Danny grinned again.

“Speaking of awkward, I think the photographer’s waving at you,” he pointed out.

Lydia turned her head to see the photographer, a short man in a suit, waving frantically at them with a Canon camera obscuring most of his face. Excellent.

“Stiles! Lydia!” shouted the photographer. “Can we get some smiles over here?” That wasn’t too difficult, Lydia mused, and she looked at Stiles and he shrugged, so they did.

“I feel like a poser,” Stiles said quietly to her through smiling teeth. “Scratch that, I literally _am_ a poser, I’m not even the guy who’s getting married…”

Lydia held back a giggle and opted not to answer- he was talking more to himself than anyone else, anyway- And the photographer snapped a few photos like that, and  then the directions were ‘hold hands’ and ‘hands on her waist please’ and Lydia and Stiles obliged, at least, until the request was “Give us a kiss!”

Stiles looked stricken at the order and Lydia couldn’t help but feel the same. This hadn’t really been part of the plan but then again, what else? The last pose had Stiles wrapping his arms around her waist with hers around his neck; this was really the logical next step. Meanwhile, the well-meaning photographer was looking expectantly at them through the telephoto lens.

“It’s okay,” Lydia murmured, trying to catch Stiles’ gaze. He looked unsure and more than a little uncomfortable, a light sheen of sweat breaking over his forehead.

He gazed at her for a moment, perhaps trying to gauge whether her words were true, before sighing. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered apologetically before quickly leaning in to chastely kiss her. It could almost be mistaken for a brotherly peck if it weren’t for the fact that it was directed on her lips. And yet, it still left a not unwelcome tingle there that made Lydia unconsciously rub her lips together.

Isaac, on the edge of the crowd watching them, was clearly enjoying this all far too much. “You know what? _I_ think you can kiss your future wife with a little more enthusiasm than that,” He said casually, rubbing his chin to cover his smirk. There were murmurs of agreement around them.

Stiles delivered a ferocious looking grin in the other werewolf’s direction, and spoke through his teeth so quietly that Isaac would only be able to hear it with his werewolf senses. “I’m going to rip out your _canines_ and _shove them up your_ -”

“One more?” The photographer requested, angling his lens again. “One more kiss. This time with a little more ‘oomph’ behind it!” he said enthusiastically, gesturing with his hands.

Stiles’ expression was almost comical.

Lydia felt sort of guilty at how uncomfortable Stiles felt right now. Even after the kitchen incident, he still thought she was opposed to kissing him and the fact was… well. After a brief moment of contemplation, she decided to put him out of his misery, grasping the back of his head with one of her hands and forcing his face down to hers to meet her in a kiss. She heard his sharp inhalation right before their lips met.

Her closed mouth pressed against his, softly yet intimately, and the way she tilted her head could leave no doubt that this was nothing if not a romantic kiss. She heard the camera shutter go off dimly in the back of her head but didn’t pull away.

At least, until he did, slowly. His face was still inches from hers when she opened her eyes. His pupils were dilated and his breathing a little heavy.

Lydia simply smiled sweetly up at him.

“Thank you,” the photographer called, looking pleased as he flicked through his pictures on the camera. “What a gorgeous couple you are!”

As soon as he turned away, Stiles let go of her waist, raking a hand through his hair and exhaling shakily. He looked at her and opened his mouth to say something but then someone across the room shouted his name and then someone was tugging on Lydia’s shoulder and the next thing she knew, they were separated.

For an hour afterward, she could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers.

* * *

 

**UNIVERSE 1.0**

“It was incredibly difficult to find,” Deaton began, “but my contacts proved useful.”

Scott hid a grin. It had taken Deaton literally only forty-eight hours with that book before he was calling Scott and the others to meet with him in the clinic.

“The language is Mapudungun,” Deaton began.

“Bless you,” three different voices rang out. Deaton ignored them. “It’s a language spoken in certain remote parts of southern Chile… by the Mapuche people.” His words were meaningful, but it didn’t mean anything to Scott.

“Kalku is the name of a witch in Mapuche mythology,” Stiles exclaimed out of nowhere. When Scott (and everyone, frankly) looked at him he shrugged. “What? It’s called Wikipedia.”

“Stiles is right,” remarked Deaton, looking like he was repressing a smile. “And that word was mentioned frequently in the translation. There were a few interesting things I found in there, actually. For one: that part you were mentioning with the pentagram? It was a ritual, to summon a demon called a wekufe.”

“And why’d she summon a demon?” Scott asked slowly.

Deaton was ready with the answer. “Legend has it that kalkus purposely allowed themselves to be hosts for wekufes because they gained more power from it. The problem, that I suspect our resident witch didn’t realize, is that the wekufe eventually begins to influence you.”

“Okay, that sounds a lot like the nogitsune to me,” Malia spoke up. Scott silently agreed.

“It’s not, really,” Deaton disagreed. “It’s more of a… mutual partnership, rather than the parasitic relationship that our Stiles had with the fox spirit.”

“Great, much better,” Malia muttered.

But apparently there was more. “Another thing I noticed when looking through the translation,” Deaton continued, “This book- it wasn’t a personal journal of hers. It belonged to a group.” He looked up at them all gravely. “A coven.”

There was silence in the room.

“A coven,” Stiles stated flatly. “Like, witches, plural?”

“Yes.”

Isaac muttered something about “too fucking much” and Scott had to say, he agreed. They could barely handle _one_ witch…

“So- what does it mean? Where did her coven go?” Scott pressed.

He really hadn’t expected an answer, but Deaton got a very pensive look on his face at those words. Like he’d been thinking on it.

Lydia picked up on it too. “What, what is it?”

Deaton took his time mulling it over before he finally opened his mouth to speak. “This is pure speculation on my part, but… based on some of the lethal spells that were _scribbled_ on the edges of the inside cover… It got me thinking. What if the wekufe influenced our witch more than she thought it would?”

“And?” Lydia said.

“And what if killing your coven does the same thing for you as killing your pack?” Deaton went on carefully, now looking directly at Scott.

Scott felt comprehension dawn on him. “Makes you more powerful,” he realized. Kalku had killed her own coven…

“Even _more_ powerful?” Stiles squawked. “Even more powerful than, ya know, being a powerful witch who’s BFF’s with a demon? How powerful are we talking here?”

“That brings me to my next point,” Deaton replied. “What if Kalku hasn’t disappeared because she ran off, Scott… what if the reason we can’t find her is because she’s not even _here_?”

Scott blinked. “Then where could she be?”

A beat.

It was Lydia who spoke up then, quietly. “A different _universe_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for being so patient. Also a huge thank you to everyone who left me notes on tumblr/comments here while I was off crying on my biochemistry notes this week lmao, I really appreciated the encouragement and it brought me a lot of smiles during a stressful time :')
> 
> And hey, I heard it's fanfiction appreciation day today? I think? So if you have the time, I would appreciate it so much if y'all left another comment! :D  
> PS- there is more to come of the engagement party!! ;)


	12. if you love something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison Argent is a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIED. I SAID FLUFF? THE CHAPTER HAD OTHER IDEAS WHILE I WAS WRITING IT. I’M SORRY. IT'S NOT AS FLUFFY AS I WANTED. Angst follows me wherever I go lmaoo.
> 
> (But, I am working slowly on a Stydia one-shot (unrelated to this story) that I'm probably going to have to take blood sugar medication for, it's that fluffy. So. There's that. ;P )

**UNIVERSE 1.0**

Stiles was not having a good time. Whatsoever.

First of all- Dorothy came around in intervals to bust his balls over one thing or another, and that was enough to put him in a bit of a mood, frankly. Second of all- people he knew in real life were clapping him on the back, congratulating him on his upcoming marriage to Lydia Martin which was nuts and he had to stand there and smile because what else could he do? And third of all. He was so fucking confused by Lydia Martin.

He was trying really, really hard not to listen to her heartbeat or smell her chemo signals or whatever- she’d told him not to and he wanted to respect her wishes, and all- but it required a lot of concentration and after keeping it up for this long he felt a migraine coming on.

But she’d kissed him. And before, when he’d been totally out of control- well, he’d smelled her, hadn’t he? She’d been attracted to him. Aroused, even. And Stiles still had no idea what to do with that information. It was like the whole world was turned upside down and everything she said or did now, he was now trying to match it up with this new version of her. And he couldn’t. And then she had to go and do things like hold his hand and _look_ at him like that and kiss him but then he was left wondering was that all for the cameras and the watchful eyes and did he just _imagine_ the trace of a smile on her face just before they were separated or -?

“Stiles?”

Stiles blinked, bringing himself back to reality and Scott’s dad standing in front of him expectantly.

“Uh, yeah?” he said shakily, rubbing his forehead.

“I was just asking how the two of you got together?”

Stiles’ blinked several more times rapidly. He had no idea, honestly. They really should have thought of a cover story. “You know what,” he laughed unsteadily, “Lydia tells the story a lot better than me. Go ask her.” At least if he put it on Lydia she couldn’t get mad at him later for blowing up the story.

Scott’s dad looked amused. “Alright then.” Then he peered at him, closely. “You okay there bud? You’re looking a little peaked.”

“Peaked?” Stiles gulped. His own voice sounded an octave too high. “Why would I be peaked? That doesn’t make any sense I don’t know why you would ask me that q-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” interrupted a very familiar voice tiredly behind them. “He’s just nervous, McCall, give it a rest.”

All Stiles could do was watch blankly as the alternate version of his father stepped up to shake McCall’s hand. As the two engaged in small talk, Stiles scanned the room for an escape route. He’d only taken a few steps forward when a hand grabbed him by the back of his collar, jerking him back none too gently.

“You should be thanking me for saving your ass.”

Stiles turned his head to see McCall disappearing back into the crowd, leaving him alone with his father. Accepting defeat, he plastered on a smile and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well hel-”

“Save it, Scott told me you’re not my son,” the Sheriff interrupted him, letting go of the back of his shirt.

Oh, thank god. Still, Stiles played offended as he turned around to face him. “What, so just because I’m not technically your son you’re not going to say hello to me? That’s kind of rude don’t you think.”

The sheriff eyed Stiles and his various wild hand gestures with a raised eyebrow before shaking his head in bemusement. “I take it back. You’re definitely Stiles.”

Stiles beamed. “What did Scott tell you?”

The sheriff blew air out of his mouth with an air of exasperation and exhaustion. “Something about… alternate universes? Witches? Dark magic?... I don’t know,” he finished. “I’m too old for this. Just bring my son back to me, please. Preferably before his wedding.” His voice was dry.

Stiles saluted. “Will do. Or, I mean, will try.” His father leveled him with a flat stare. “Nope, I meant will do. Definitely will do.” He nodded fast, and the Sheriff seemed to accept that.

Sheriff nodded across the room. “She yours, then?”

Stiles whipped his head around to see where his father was gesturing. Lydia, across the rooftop balcony, chatting up guests with a big smile on her face and looking perfectly at ease. “Yeah, she’s my Lydia.” He realized suddenly how that sounded. “I mean, my universe’s. She’s not _mine_ , mine. That’s what you meant, right?”

His father sighed and didn’t even dignify Stiles’ question with a response. “Oh-kay. I’ll leave you to it. I think your great uncle Bernardo is coming this way, just a heads up.”

Stiles whipped his head around again even as his father turned to leave. “Great uncle _Bernardo_? Why in hell did we invite that crazy bastard, Dad, save me-”

“I’ll save you,” an amused, feminine voice chimed in from behind him. Stiles turned his head again, getting a crick in his neck from all the whipping around (fantastic) and there was Allison.

“Oh my god, Allison,” Stiles said with relief, momentarily forgetting all issues he had with talking to her. “Please, pretend to talk to me.”

Allison crossed her arms over her lacy black dress front. “I’ll do you one better and _actually_ talk to you.”

Stiles deflated slightly. He _so_ did not like that tone. “Hey, you know what he’s walking away, so we’re good now-”

Allison cut in before he could make a quick getaway. “What’s your problem with me, Stiles?”

He swallowed thickly. “Problem? I don’t have a problem.”

“Yes, you do.”

Stiles was starting to consider the idea that talking to his great uncle might have actually been a better option. “Dunno what you’re talking about,” he muttered, staring down at his shoes that he’d already managed to scuff several times.

“Maybe the fact that you can’t look me in the eye?” Allison’s voice was sort of loud, and Stiles cringed. His ears were really damn sensitive and it was hard enough to block out the classical music singing through the speakers on the rooftop. “I think I know what this is about. It’s about me being _dead_ in your universe, isn’t it.”

Stiles couldn’t help it- he winced at the blunt words. To avoid replying, he snagged a pastry from a passing waiter and stuffed it in his mouth, but that just gave Allison more opportunity to gather ammunition.

“You’re having some sort of guilt trip. I’m not an idiot, Stiles. I can connect the dots from what Lydia told me.”

Stiles swallowed the pastry with difficulty. He’d heard enough. “Allison, I don’t think you get it. In my universe, I pretty much _killed_ you.” He tried to keep his voice light, matter-of-fact, but despite his best efforts it shook slightly.

“You need to stop,” Allison said sternly. “It wasn’t you, it was the Nogitsune.”

“But Scott as the Nogitsune didn’t kill you,” Stiles reminded her, now drawing on his past argument with Lydia. “That’s the only difference. Which means that somehow, I played a part.” Allison was shaking her head furiously even as he spoke.

“Stiles, maybe I can’t convince you that you had no part in my death,” Allison said firmly. “But I can tell you right now that there is no universe where I would blame you for it. And no universe where Scott would, either. We know that you’d never do that willingly. To either of us, okay?”

Stiles closed his eyes as those words washed over him, feeling suddenly overcome by emotion of hearing that from _her_. “I… don’t know if I can believe that,” he finally said, weakly, and yet there was a tinge of hope to his voice, like maybe if he could just _believe_ that, he could be free of the guilt that had wracked him since- well, years now really-

“ _I_ believe that,” Allison said firmly. “And that should be enough.”

And Stiles finally looked into Allison Argent’s warm, yet steely brown eyes and felt something in him break at the sight. He bit on his lip to keep it from trembling; suddenly he felt like there was something clogging his throat. Allison immediately noticed the change and her expression softened.

“Oh, Stiles,” she said sadly, and then she walked forward a few steps to embrace him in a hug.

Stiles didn’t know what it looked like to the other people at the party, him embracing his best friend’s wife in a hug that was far too tight to be a congratulatory one. But he didn’t care either. Depending on how things worked out, he might never get another chance to see, talk to or hug a living, breathing Allison Argent and there was no way in _hell_ , he decided right then and there, that he was going to squander the opportunity to do it now.

* * *

 

“Where’s Stiles?” Lydia asked sharply when she finally got away from the twenty minute long conversation with her colleagues, and before that, Derek Hale of all people, who she was oddly touched had even shown up.

Allison took her time fanning herself before responding. It was a warm night, and Lydia’s best friend was wearing a very simple black dress; her hair was straightened and she wasn’t wearing a shred of makeup and yet- Lydia was sure she was the most beautiful woman in the room. That was just how Allison was. Lydia was envious. “He went to take a breather downstairs,” she replied.

“Why?”

“The crowd was too much. You know how he gets anxious.”

It was a perfectly acceptable reason but the carefully nonchalant way Allison said it was what made Lydia suspicious. “Want to tell me the real reason?” Lydia scanned the crowd.

“After you tell me the real reason that you keep on denying the fact that you’re into him,” Allison shot back immediately.

Lydia floundered for a retort but found none. It was right out of left field. Her mouth opened but she took several moments to collect her words carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You like him.”

“Of course I like him. He’s my best friend, right after you.”

“You know, we never talked about that hickey,” Allison remarked smugly, damn her.  When Lydia offered no response, she continued. “You _like_ like him, Lydia. Admit it.”

Lydia huffed and turned to march towards the bar. She needed a drink, frankly. “What are we, twelve?”

Allison was at her heels every step of the way. “You’re acting like it.”

Lydia spun around suddenly, almost causing Allison to bump into her. “You don’t get it, Allison,” she hissed. “I have lost _so many_ people.” She turned around and started walking again without waiting.

“Martini, please,” Lydia snapped at the bartender as she approached. The skinny bartender jumped at her tone and hastened to making it.

“We’ve all lost people, Lydia,” Allison said softly behind her. Lydia pretended not to hear, looking up at the evening sky and trying to focus on the beautiful colours of the sun slowly beginning to sink behind the horizon. She didn’t need a lecture.

“You haven’t lost all the people you’ve ever loved, Allison, I don’t expect you to understand,” Lydia said equally softly, but tersely.

Because she had, she’d lost them all- even if they weren’t dead. She’d lost her parents first, at a young age, as they slowly retreated into themselves and their sole focus became attacking each other and not the little girl crying upstairs under the blankets- and Jackson had died and come back and died again and came back again and then moved away like she meant nothing, taking part of her heart with him. And Allison had been stabbed, so suddenly, and Lydia had felt it tear her soul in half and the very next day Aiden had been stabbed and black ooze had dripped from his mouth and dammit, she’d cared for him so much and there were so many more - and everyone had always slowly drifted away from Lydia Martin once she began to love them and that was just how things _were_.

There was a pause.

“What are you saying?” Allison asked, her voice suddenly quite alert. “Are you saying you love S-”

“No,” Lydia said clearly, certainly, and without a shred of doubt. Allison blinked in surprise at her surety.

“I’ll never love him,” Lydia said, and repeated it just to be sure and maybe also as a mantra for herself: “I’ll never love him.” The bartender shot her an odd look as he gave her the martini but she ignored it.

And Lydia _was_ sure. She was sure she did not love Stiles. It would be a terrible thing if she did. Because if she loved Stiles, then surely, she would lose him too.

And she couldn’t lose him. So she might care for him, adore him as her friend… but she would never love him.

It was simple as that.

“How can you be so sure?” Allison inquired tentatively. “Lydia, don’t take this offensively, okay? But I’ve seen the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you. That’s how _our_ Stiles and Lydia look at each other. I think you’re deluding yourself.”

Lydia swallowed, suddenly blinking back tears. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that her alternate universe self got to have Allison and Stiles, while she got neither. It wasn’t fucking _fair_.

“No,” she denied in a whisper.

“Lydia…” Allison said cautiously. “He loves you like there’s no tomorrow. And if you keep doing this, sending him mixed signals or whatever, you’re hurting him too.” When Lydia said nothing, Allison went on. “You’ve got to figure it out. If you choose him, he’s not going to leave you. Ever.”

Lydia shook her head, feeling absolutely miserable. Damn Allison for bringing all these feelings to the surface when she had so cleverly hidden them below for so many years. “Maybe he won’t _mean_ to,” Lydia replied stubbornly.

“Dammit, Lydia.” Allison nearly seethed. “You’re the one that told me about Scott. _You_ told me how I died and left him _heartbroken_. And now he’s with Kira, isn’t he?”

“That’s different. It’s Scott.”

“No, it’s not,” Allison argued fervently. “And I _know_ how much he’s been through! He’s been abandoned and stabbed in the back and thrown to the wolves time and time again and he still chooses to _love_ people, Lydia, he’s been through just as much as you and he still lets himself be happy. You said that _yourself_.”

Lydia glanced at her best friend, who was nearly red faced with anger and emotion, and sighed. “Scott is strong,” she whispered, feeling hopeless and hopeful at Allison’s words all at once.

“So. Are. You,” Allison ground out. “You’re just as strong as Scott, if not stronger!”

“Yeah, I’d actually say that you are,” Scott chimed in, appearing out of nowhere in a mint green dress shirt and dark pants. “I mean, remember that arm wrestling contest we had that one time? Hey babe,” he added to his wife, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Allison looked like she was trying to compose herself just as Lydia was, but Scott didn’t notice. He was a little clueless sometimes, and in this particular instance Lydia was glad for it.

In any case, Lydia had had enough. She turned on the heel, marching towards the door that she and Stiles had made their entrance from hours ago. “I need some air,” she called over her shoulder, working hard to keep her voice steady.

“Lydia, we’re already outside,” Scott’s voice was puzzled as he answered, and she heard a distant “ow” as Allison thwacked him in the arm but she didn’t stay behind to listen for more.

* * *

 

The hallway one floor below was dimly lit, used mostly by the service staff but presently abandoned save for one person. She found Stiles under the fluorescent lighting, sitting on the floor and leaning his head against the wall, eyes closed. He looked rather tired. One of his hands was rubbing absentmindedly at his forehead.

He didn’t react when she walked through; she debated just walking onwards because she wasn’t really in the mood, but he almost looked like he was in pain. So she said, “Are you okay?”

He jumped visibly, eyes shooting open and arms flailing. She watched him with amusement as he attempted to get his bearings. He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. Just… headache.”

“Some werewolf you are,” she commented at his rattled demeanor, crossing her arms as she approached to stand in front of him.

He attempted to glare at her as he scrambled up but it was a weak attempt. “I was just trying to block out the music. It’s really loud.”

She cocked her head, listening carefully. “I can’t hear it.”

He looked almost envious. “Well, it’s not that great anyway. It goes like…” his eyes lost focus as he presumably listened to the music and began nodding his head. “Dun dun. Dun. Dun. And a wicked drum solo.”

“Really.”

“No. Would’ve been awesome though.”

She couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, shaking her head in amusement. “Can you really hear it?”

He nodded, smiling down at her fondly and now looking slightly more relaxed than he had when she walked in. “Something salsa-y. Like…” Without warning, he took her hand, without a second thought it seemed, as if it were second nature to him, and led her into the centre of the hallway.

“Are we about to dance to music I can’t hear?” Lydia raised her eyebrows and kept her tone unimpressed to hide the incessant pounding of her heart.

He waggled his other finger at her. “Hey, if I have to listen to extremely loud music, then you have to suffer with me with something equally annoying.”

“Which is…”

“Extremely bad dancing.” And then he looked down at his feet, brow furrowed in concentration, and started a three-step rhythm with his feet.

Lydia immediately caught on and matched his steps, surprised to find he wasn’t that bad. “I didn’t know you could dance,” she commented with some surprise.

“I can’t,” Stiles said happily as they slowly began to move together. “The steps with the feet are all I know.”

His rhythm was decent, Lydia decided, and she took his other hand impulsively to sway their joined hands between them and he led the movements with the beat that only he could hear.

Eventually she sort of got into it, matching his steps and even leading his arm into giving her a twirl. He shook his head in mock disapproval. “That didn’t even go with the music, Lydia.”

“I’m starting to think there is no salsa music and you’re just making up an excuse to dance with me,” Lydia smirked, rejoining their hands.

His eyes sparkled. “So what if I was?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Lydia replied, and he beamed, swinging their joined hands with more vigor and nearly whacking himself in the face with them.

While Lydia stopped in order to bend over laughing at his clumsiness, she pondered how this man had become her best friend- it was just so unlikely. They were different in so many ways. And yet, he was always there, a steady constant in her life, with her through all the crazy of the thick and thin in the last several years of hell that had become their life.

She had to acknowledge to herself, she thought as she took his hand again and let him lead her, that she was extraordinarily fond of him. And yes, she was very attracted to him, that too.

But what Allison had said… she’d never really examined what she felt for Stiles beyond that. And now that it had been said, Lydia really couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And now she was having _fun_ dancing to music that she couldn’t hear in a narrow, fluorescently lit service hallway- who but Stiles could make her feel like she was dancing on top of the world in such a setting?

“God, you are so beautiful,” he beamed at her with unbridled enthusiasm as he led her into another twirl, looking finally at ease.

Lydia made a face, keeping a lid on the part of her that wanted to relish in his compliment. There was just something about the earnest way he said these things; like it was a fact that he needed her to know, like he literally could not help it. “My hair’s a mess now, probably.”

He leaned in closer, so close she could see the liquefied gold in his irises. “If you consider _that_ a mess, I don’t even know what to call myself under your criteria.” He grinned at her, jokingly.

 This close, she couldn’t help but note his appearance was much more in shambles than previously. He had loosened the collar by one button, rolled up his sleeves to reveal his sinewy forearms, and his hair was spiky with dried sweat, gelled appearance long gone. His flushed cheekbones became more prominent with his wide smile.

It was a good look.

“You look handsome like this,” the words popped out of her mouth out of the blue.

He blinked several times, mouth opening and closing, and then a slow smile spread on his face. “As opposed to what?” he echoed her words from earlier with a wink.

Lydia didn’t stumble. “To what you usually look like.”

“Which is what?” His voice was teasing, but his gaze was curious, persistent.

She appraised him with a little pout on her face. “Hmmm… Like you just rolled out of the trash.”

Stiles absorbed that, and laughed. It was a good laugh, a whole-hearted one, and a rare one from him nowadays.

Before Lydia could truly bask in the sound, the door she had come through opened, and Dorothy’s head was poking through, taking in the scene with raised eyebrows. Lydia knew how it must look; they were standing nearly toe to toe in the dim lighting, hands joined. Not that Dorothy was surprised, since she still thought they were getting married.

“You need to come back outside,” Dorothy said finally, directing her words at Lydia only. “Everyone’s looking for you two. If you need to _fix_ ” she said this deliberately with her eyes flicking disapprovingly over Stiles’ form, “yourselves, do it quickly.”

Stiles was blushing now for completely different reasons, his mouth opening no doubt to blurt out some uncomfortable and unnecessary denials; Lydia saved them all the awkwardness.

“Yes, thank you Dorothy,” she said with a wide smile. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

Something odd happened right then. A strange swooshing sound fell through Lydia’s ears, and she couldn’t even hear Stiles’ stammering.

Before she could even blink and question what happened, the answer became clear. Leaning against the wall that Stiles had been sitting against earlier was Kalku.

She looked distinctly like Morgan Lefebvre, with her blond hair and porcelain skin and red painted lips, except for the small difference that her eyes were completely red.

Lydia gaped as Kalku simply smiled almost demurely and placed an unhurried finger to her own lips. Shushing her.

All the sound came rushing back, but Kalku remained. Neither Stiles nor Dorothy had noticed her; no doubt another one of the witch’s tricks.

“-Lydia?” Stiles was saying. He had taken a few steps but stopped when he noticed Lydia had not been following. He looked confused and concerned. “You coming?”

Heart thundering in her ears, she heard herself say, “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute. I think I need to go to the bathroom.” Her voice sounded deceptively casual even to herself.

Stiles gave her an odd look but Dorothy was yanking him by the sleeve through the door. “Are you su- _ow_. Okay. I’ll see you back out there.”

The last she saw of him was his flailing limbs before the door closed shut. She stared at the door for several seconds before closing her eyes and composing herself.

She knew why the witch was here. The reason had been in the back of her mind all day, and now she had no excuse to keep it from coming to the forefront.

“Hello there, Lydia.”

Her voice, a silvery impression of Morgan Lefebvre’s, made Lydia’s skin crawl. She steeled herself and turned back around, making her expressions as blasé as possible.

Kalku pouted at her for a moment before pushing off the wall. Lydia made a conscious effort not to take a step back. “What’s the matter, Lydia? You look uncomfortable.” Her tone was mocking.

“What do you want?” Lydia silently congratulated herself on the steadiness of her voice.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me.” Kalku cocked her head and smiled then, a full-fledged one that showed all her teeth. “I’m here to _collect_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this latest instalment- I hope you still enjoyed it and if so would you consider leaving a comment which would certainly brighten up my day!! :)


	13. he wasn't wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalku comes clean about a lot of things... so does Stiles.

Lydia couldn’t really find a use for her mouth all of a sudden, so the witch, smiling knowingly, continued.

“I didn’t feel like talking last night, Lydia, and I do apologize for that. I’m usually not so rude, you know. But I’m ready to answer your questions now. I know how you like to have all the answers before you do something, and I’m patient enough to give those to you.”

Lydia still said nothing.

Kalku batted her eyelashes. “What? No smart remarks? No incessant questioning? I do believe I’ve rendered you completely speechless. That’s no easy feat, I’m guessing.” She shrugged. “I’m on a schedule, Lydia. I need your help, and you promised to give it to me.”

Lydia finally spoke. “Why me? There’s an entire pack of us out there. Why _me_?”

The witch looked almost impressed at her inquiry. “Why you, indeed…” She drew herself up. “But to answer that, I have to go back to the very beginning, don’t I?”

“What’s the beginning?” Despite herself, Lydia was so curious. She knew next to nothing dammit, and if nothing else, she wanted answers.

“When I brought you to another universe.”

Lydia gaped.

“Yes, that was me,” the witch said, looking bored now as she examined her fingernails. “I am that witch. I am Morgan Lefebvre from _your_ universe, which also happens to be the true plane of reality.”

Lydia frowned. So, the whole multiverse theory was correct. She wasn’t really surprised. She had agreed with Deaton’s theory, after all, and Lydia was usually correct about these kinds of things. “This is a multiverse. There are infinite planes of reality, aren’t there?”

“True,” Kalku confirmed. “But it all had to stem from somewhere, didn’t it, my dear? Use that big brain of yours. Infinite universes, but they spawned from one universe originally. The original universe. The _first_ universe. Your universe.”

Well, that was news. Lydia filed that bombshell away for later. “And?”

Kalku looked rather bored but continued to explain. “The fact that it is the original universe, the true universe, is a very powerful notion, especially for magic. You see, magic is a peculiar thing. I don’t believe you might understand, with your big scientific mind. Certain things make it stronger; things you would probably consider to be abstract concepts. Magic…” she spoke with an air of wonder suddenly. “Magic likes irony. Poetry. For example, when I tried to kill you several days ago,” Kalku adopted a conversational tone, “The spell I used translates roughly to ‘banish from this world’. Somehow… I don’t know if it was your powers as a banshee or what, but the spell was taken literally, and you ended up- well-” she spread her arms. “-here. I’ve never seen such a thing. You are a curious creature, my dear. But I digress. These abstract concepts are what make it even more powerful. So harvesting the Nemeton from the first, original, true universe out of all the true universes makes the action itself so much more powerful.”

Lydia held her expression in a mask. The witch still seemed to underestimate Lydia’s capacity to understand things that were not her strength, and it was something that Lydia took note of. “You still haven’t answered my question,” She persisted. “Why _me_?”

Kalku waggled her finger at her. “Patience, my dear. I was getting to that. Originally, I tried to get at the Nemeton myself. But your little boyfriend and the veterinarian had protected it admirably well. I realized it would be easier with help, which was why I befriended you, a pack member that I thought would be receptive.”

Lydia gritted her teeth at the implication that she was easily manipulated.

Kalku didn’t seem to notice. “And with your help I was able to get near the Nemeton. Unfortunately, your pack interrupted the process halfway through, but that it has become a blessing to me. Now, I can try to harvest the nemeton again, but like I said, magic likes poetry. Which is why I need you. Because you were the one I went to before. And another, beautiful thing about all of this? This is the _third_ attempt. Third time’s the _charm_ , isn’t it?” Kalku bared her teeth. “There’s a reason that’s a saying. Purely by coincidence, you’ve created the perfect conditions for me to harvest the Nemeton’s power and get the utmost power out of it myself.”

Great. “So you’re not so powerful now?”

Kalku threw back her head and laughed. “Thinking about a rebellion, Lydia? Don’t worry. I’m powerful plenty right now, too.”

“Then how are you even able to be here? Most witches aren’t able to jump between universes, are they?”

Kalku shrugged. “No. But even I can only jump through a handful of them. Not all.” She gnashed her teeth together briefly before continuing. “It’s a funny thing, that I’m not restricted to just one plane of existence. I suppose that means that I don’t really exist.” She smirked before continuing, “I just had a little… help, that’s all.”

“From what?”

She smiled wickedly, her red eyes glowing brightly for a mere moment. “A wekufe. I’m sure that means noth-”

“A demon,” Lydia said instantly. “A rare procedure, but you can summon a demon to possess you.”

Kalku’s eyebrows shot up and Lydia could tell she was impressed. “Well, well, someone’s been reading up, haven’t they?” When Lydia didn’t reply, she continued. “Yes, a wekufe feeds my power but it’s not _possessing_ me. Might want to correct that on the Wikipedia page you read that on. And… my coven.”

Lydia’s jaw dropped. A coven? “You mean there are several of you?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

“I didn’t say that. I just said, my coven helped me.” Kalku smiled deviously.

Lydia almost wanted to ask how exactly the coven helped but there was something dark and malicious in Kalku’s grin that made Lydia think she didn’t want to press it just now. “Where’s the alternate version of yourself, then? Why haven’t I seen her?”

Kalku shrugged. “Maybe because she doesn’t care about you or the Nemeton at all?”

Lydia glared at the witch suspiciously. “And why wouldn’t she care?”

“Because she’s not a witch,” Kalku shrugged. “I know you’ve already met her- well, me- by now. You went to visit her at the school.”

It was finally dawning on Lydia. They’d been barking up the wrong tree the whole time. “You _are_ Morgan Lefebvre. It wasn’t some act, was it?”

“That’s right. Universes are separated by choices, right? Guess what. Some different things happened here in this universe. Like banshees, witch powers can be activated by certain… life events. To put it simply, poor Morgan LeFebvre’s powers were somehow not activated in this universe. So she remains an oblivious little human, just like you. Unaware of all the power that is locked inside.”

Lydia rocked back on her heels, absorbing all this information and trying to reconcile it with the things that she’d guessed. They’d been wrong about so many things.

Kalku examined her fingernails. “Can we get on with things now? Is the interrogation over?” She sighed dramatically when again, Lydia said nothing, and pushed off the wall she’d been leaning on, striding closer to Lydia. “You’re not so talkative tonight, Lydia. You used to love talking with me, what happened?”

“I realized you were a psychopath,” Lydia spat.

Kalku pouted. “That’s not nice. Now, let’s go. There’s a lot to do. I have to take you back, and you help me get to the big old tree, and then we go off on with our separate lives. Capiche?”

Lydia briefly wondered if she should just do what the witch said. It didn’t seem like it would harm anyone. But… “What will happen when you harness the Nemeton?”

“It’ll be destroyed,” Kalku replied far too casually.

“Won’t destroying the Nemeton disrupt… _things_ , in Beacon Hills?” Lydia questioned. She really had no idea about how the Nemeton’s power worked, and Kalku’s sly look told her that the witch wasn’t unaware of that fact either.

“No,” Kalku said. The answer was so uncharacteristically brief that Lydia was unable to analyze her tone, which was undoubtedly why she had answered that way.

“And how do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“You don’t.”

“Then why should I trust you?”

“Because you already did,” Kalku replied smugly. “You already trusted me to save your little boy toy from killing some innocent children.” She grew serious now, smile fading and brow furrowing slightly. “I’m going to be very clear, Lydia. I’m not asking you. You’ve already agreed. I’m simply reminding you of the _terms_ of our agreement.”

“That was under duress,” Lydia argued, but knowing it was futile at this point.

“Not really. You could have trusted him to stop himself.” Kalku paused to examine Lydia’s expression carefully. “Or maybe you _don’t_ trust him? I have to say, maybe you’re right. He has a darkness inside of him, curiously enough. Maybe that scares you. Is _that_ why you haven’t jumped his bones already?”

Lydia refused to be affected by her words. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“What, matchmaking? It was clear to me from the very start that you and that Jordan guy were not meant to be.” Her tone was humorous.

Lydia glared. “You know what I meant. Why do you want the Nemeton so badly?”

Kalku shrugged, all blasé. “Is power not a good enough reason?”

No, Lydia thought. Because Kalku was Morgan Lefebvre, and Lydia knew Morgan, perhaps better than the witch thought. And maybe simple power was a big motivation, but there had to be _something_ else. Some endgame in mind.

“Give me time,” Lydia said instead, tone slightly pleading. “Give me time to figure this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. You agreed, you _will_ help me. So you will. There’s no negotiation to be had.”

Lydia closed her eyes shut. “I have to be sure.” She couldn’t just do this- help her destroy the Nemeton- without knowing all the facts about such an action first. It couldn’t possibly be as harmless as Kalku made it out to be.

“Don’t be like this, Lydia.”

Lydia opened her eyes. The witch was scowling at her, all traces of good humour gone.

“Just give me a day, and I’ll help you then,” Lydia promised. “Please, just a day.”

The witch’s red eyes narrowed. “You’ve run out of time on my watch, Lydia. We’re good friends, so I try not to be offended when you deny me. And I don’t anger easily. I don’t like killing people.”

Lydia swallowed at the word Kalku had casually brought into the conversation. “Then don’t.” Her own voice matched Kalku’s offhand tone.

“Hmm,” Kalku responded noncommittally. “We wouldn’t want anyone dead, now, would we… like your friend, Scott maybe?” Lydia’s heart thundered in her ears at the mention of her dear friend. “Wouldn’t it be a shame? He’s married to that beautiful woman, Allison? That’d make her a widow… and leave their child without a father.”

Lydia stared.

Kalku feigned disbelief. “Oh, she didn’t tell you? Your friend is carrying a little baby Argent in her belly. What a tragic story that would be.”

Lydia ignored the almost teasing sound in the witch’s voice. She could not let this happen. “Don’t,” she whispered, and she couldn’t help the small amount of pleading in her voice. “Please don’t kill _anyone_. Just give me one day, and I’ll do it, alright?”

Kalku examined her for a long moment before apparently deciding on something.

“Fine. None of your friends are dying tonight.” Kalku rolled her eyes as if this was a great inconvenience to her. “But if you need more persuasion after this, I’ll gladly give it. Have a _wonderful_ evening with your fiancé, Lydia. I’ll come to call tomorrow.” And her mouth split into a wide grin, showing razor sharp incisors. There was a popping sound, and she was gone, leaving Lydia alone with her thoughts and the faint echo of Kalku’s laughter.

Lydia wasn’t sure how long she stood in the hallway for. The mocking way the witch had said her last few words was making her very, very anxious.

Upstairs on the roof, the music suddenly became very loud, as if someone had just turned it up all the way. Salsa music.

She sighed, aware fully that she’d gotten herself into a complete mess, and debated telling the pack. But then she’d have to tell about Stiles, and the deal she’d made with the witch, and… No, she could figure this out herself. Twenty four hours, that was a lot of time. If she couldn’t figure it out in that much time, then she would tell the others.

Nodding to herself at her decision, she set her shoulders and went right back upstairs.

When Lydia emerged on the rooftop again, Dorothy was waiting, looking ticked off. “Oh, _there_ you are,” The planner hissed. “You’re the _worst_ couple I’ve ever had to work with, I swear. It’ll be a miracle if the two of you happen to show up for your wedding.”

She could hardly form an excuse in her mind when she was immediately accosted by several of her guests, all exclaiming variations of, “where did you go?” and she had to smile and fake her way through several conversations, and then Scott gave a casual speech about Stiles and her to the crowd that was admittedly very cute, and then there were more conversations to be had that including one rather uncomfortable one with Scott’s father about how she and Stiles had gotten together. She pulled that answer straight from what the other Stiles had told her when he showed her the picture of them.

She felt a pang thinking about that day. It felt like it’d been years and years since the night she’d arrived, covered in sweat and gasping for breath in the bed she shared with Stiles Stilinski, eons since he made her blueberry pancakes in her kitchen while she tried to figure out if she was living a dream. It felt like it’d been so long since she’d been _home_.

Yet, she didn’t feel any want to go back. Was that bad of her? She wondered, that she didn’t feel such an urgent desire to go back to her own universe? And here Kalku had offered the opportunity like it was a golden egg, like it was something that Lydia should _jump_ at.

“Hey, Lydia,” Scott appeared out of nowhere again when Lydia had managed to escape to the edge of the crowd, near the exit. “Are you enjoying your party?”

“Hmm?” Lydia said, snapping out of it. “Oh, yes. It’s great.” Her faked enthusiasm seemed to work on Scott.

He tipped his glass at her. “That’s good. Our Lydia spent such a long time on planning things with that Dorothy lady. Man, you should see her plans for the wedding. She just likes things being perfect.”

“I do,” agreed Lydia in a murmur. “How’s security going? Anything?”

Scott’s expression grew serious. “We’re on it, Lydia. The pack is looking out for anything suspicious. Don’t worry, if anything happens, we’ll find it.” His voice was earnest and Lydia almost felt bad that he believed so much in them, because he was wrong, as Kalku had proved ten minutes ago- but that was Scott. He believed in his friends; that was just the kind of person he was.

“I’m off to the bar,” Scott said absentmindedly after Lydia said nothing for a good half-minute. “You want anything?” he had already turned to go but Lydia grabbed his arm.

“Scott?”

He crooked one eyebrow up. “You want one?”

“No.” Her throat worked a few times, thinking about what Kalku had said, before simply saying, “Just… be careful.” She said it much more seriously than she’d intended. Scott picked up on it immediately.

“Is this a banshee feeling, Lydia?” He asked with concern, turning to face her completely. “Should I be worried? Did something happen?”

Lydia let go of him like she’d been burned. “I- no. Nothing happened,” she lied through her teeth, “just be careful. Okay?”

He smiled, a wide, uneven Scott smile, and patted her shoulder. “Always.” And he departed into the crowd. Lydia watched him go, and she couldn’t tell if it was a banshee feeling or her own internal anxiety, but there was a heavy pit forming in her stomach.

She was so focused on it that she didn’t even realize when a heavy arm wrapped around her shoulders. She jumped. But it was just Stiles, his grin quickly dissipating at her reaction.

“Whoa, hey,” Stiles said with alarm, “Why so nervous?” Something seemed to occur to him and his gaze darkened as he turned his head to scan the now thinning crowd. It seemed that people were beginning to disperse. “Did my great uncle get his hands on you? Goddamit, I’ll kill him… I know I promised Dad not to kill Bernardo but exceptions must be made am I ri-”

“Stiles, don’t murder your great uncle please,” Lydia interrupted tersely. Just thinking about the concept of death was making her rather ill. “I didn’t even know he existed until right now. I’m just… jumpy.”

He released her immediately. “Oh. Well, do you like the music?” He smirked and bobbed his head a few times with the beat. “If you wanna dance, I’m down to embarrass myself in public.”

She shook her head. She’d been feeling so light and flirty earlier, but the conversation with Kalku had ruined everything. “No.”

His light expression fell and he glanced around a few times to make sure no one was listening before he said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

She looked up, startled. “For what?”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets and avoiding her eyes. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” he elaborated. “I know you’re not, you know, down with the whole concept of, you know… _me_ , and I’m sorry you have to pretend like you are when you’re clearly not okay with it.” He shrugged again.

She blinked a few times. The surprising amount of eloquence in his spiel was odd. She realized he must have been thinking about this beforehand, and her heart sank at the thought that he was under that impression.

“Stiles-”

“But I have this great idea in case you want to bail, like, just _listen_ , okay- We’ll take you to the bar and we pretend to get shitfaced- or actually get shitfaced, if you want- and then we can leave the party and go home, and everyone here will laugh and okay maybe we’ll destroy the other Stiles’ and Lydia’s reputation but they’ll live-”

“Stiles,” she exclaimed. “Will you shut _up_?”

He recoiled, gulping.

She waited a few seconds, raising her eyebrow menacingly when he opened his mouth to speak again until he closed it. When he finally seemed ready to listen, she took a deep breath.

“I am perfectly okay with this party, Stiles,” Lydia said firmly.

He looked surprised. “You are?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

He was leaning forward, eyes huge, and opened his mouth again when someone bumped into him from behind, sending him reeling towards Lydia. He managed to catch himself, mostly, but for a moment they were nose-to-nose and all she could see were the golden oceans of his eyes. She inhaled sharply and was assaulted by his distinct scent, that one of his shampoo and his freshly laundered shirt and just Stiles and- god, he smelled so _good_.

His eyes glowed red for a brief second, and he instantly leaned away, looking pained.

“Stiles?” she asked when he backed up a step, bringing a hand to his forehead.

He didn’t answer.

“What’s wrong?”

He stared at her a moment, an internal struggle clear in his eyes, and then, all at once, he seemed to lose. He took her hand impulsively and she, surprised, let him lead her to the side of the rooftop, behind some of the decorations and lights so that their figures were partly obscured from the party. “I’m really confused,” he blurted once they were there, now in a slightly private space.

She blinked. “By what?”

He took a deep breath. “You.”

Her heart leapt. What exactly was he insinuating…

He looked upset again. “See? I heard that. Your heart. And before you say it,” he added quickly when she opened her mouth, “I’m trying really hard not to listen to your heart, I’ve been trying all night, but when I get that close to you I can’t- I can’t really focus,” he said weakly, running a hand through his hair anxiously. She supposed she should be flattered by his words, but she was already dreading what he was about to say.

“So- so I just need you to give it to me straight, okay?” he said abruptly, now leaning forward. “This is what I know. One: You smell like, to be brutally honest you smelled like _lust_ just now,” she almost laughed at the way he said ‘lust’ because it was so strange hearing that word from his mouth, “and I don’t know if I’m confusing that with something else or what. Two: Your heart goes really fast when you look me in the eye sometimes. And three,” he finally took a breath, “Three: You’ve made it clear in the past you don’t actually like me the way that number one and two would lead me to believe.”

She said nothing because there was nothing to say. She was caught and her only hope had been that he wouldn’t call her on it. But it seemed she’d underestimated his daring; he was stepping towards her now, an anticipative expression on his face as his hand reached out to her to tentatively touch her cheek.

She didn’t flinch away. She couldn’t. She couldn’t even think to move right now.

Seemingly encouraged, he released the breath he was holding and his fingers curled around her face, thumb stroking her cheek. His touch soothed her anxiety, and she couldn’t help but lean into it a little bit.

He breathed shakily. It was like the party had just faded away, all the people and the thoughts of witches and the stupid salsa music. “But Lydia, I’ve… I’ve got a theory,” he said carefully. “It’s a fucking crazy theory. I think you know what I mean, and I just need you to tell me something.”

Her throat wouldn’t work.

“Just tell me,” he murmured, eyes not wavering from hers. “Am I _wrong_ , Lydia?”

The words murmured in his raspy voice hit something deep in Lydia’ soul, making her stomach feel like goddamn _butterflies_ had taken residence. Lydia Martin just didn’t do butterflies. She needed to end this right now- but she didn’t want to say no, either.

So she didn’t tell him anything, and some part of her was hoping he got the message anyway.

When she said nothing, his other hand came up to cradle her other cheek, tilting her head up slightly. He licked his lips, and her eyes unconsciously flickered down to them. How many times had she fantasized about those lips?

Oh god, she should not be thinking that.

She thought that he knew what she was thinking anyway, because his eyes flared red again, this time staying that way.

He swallowed thickly when she didn’t reply. “Am I wrong?” he repeated, searching her eyes.

She said nothing, but maybe she trembled in his hands a little bit. He should not have this power over her. He really shouldn’t. She should push him away.

But before she could, he leaned in and quickly kissed her cheek, but so softly she wasn’t even sure it happened. But her own involuntary sharp inhalation in response told her that it had.

He pulled away a little bit, and he looked into her eyes again.

“Am I wrong?” His voice was a mere whisper at this point, his breath fanning over Lydia’s mouth. She couldn’t help that her lips parted at the sensation. He was so close, so fucking _close_ , and suddenly she wanted it so badly, because every other kiss, every other intimate moment they had, was always an act; and quite abruptly she wanted something _real_ to remember.

He leaned in again, achingly slow, and kissed her nose. This time his lips lingered for a moment before he pulled away again. He was closer than ever before, and his red-eyed gaze crawled down to her lips and then back to her eyes before they faded back to a glorious brown. “Am… I…” And right in the midst of shaping the word _wrong_ his lips landed on hers.

Her breath caught and the world stopped only to start again in full colour.

Because Stiles Stilinski was _kissing_ her, and it felt like a first kiss in all the ways that mattered.

Maybe it wasn’t exactly what she imagined for their first real kiss; on the edge of a rooftop behind glaring lights in a party that wasn’t theirs in a universe that they didn’t belong to, but that wasn’t what it was about. It was about the happy fluttery feeling that took hold in her stomach, the way her skin tingled where his thumbs rubbed slow maddening circles into her back, the way he hummed contentedly into her mouth when she finally snaked one of her hands through his thick shock of hair; and the way that, when she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, she tasted what he’d been drinking and she realized maybe he actually had good taste in wine. It was about the fact that they had, for once, not been forced into this situation by circumstance; there could be no doubt that they both wanted this to happen.

The thought thrilled her and scared her at the same time.

And she felt sort of light-headed, overwhelmed by the sensation of him, as if this _were_ her own first kiss. _He_ made her feel like that; he made her feel like falling head over heels was a new experience, like this was a new dance she’d never learned…

This realization was perhaps why, when she tried to step back to angle her body a little differently, something else happened. In an uncharacteristic move, she sort of _stumbled_.

Stiles, in a _totally_ characteristic move, was unready to catch her, although he tried, belatedly- his hands tightened around her waist but he had no stability himself. So he stumbled forward with her.

They broke apart for a mere moment when the two of them collapsed into the railing, Stiles managing to cushion Lydia’s landing with one hand braced against the metal behind her and the other tightly around her waist… now kissing her so gently, like she was the most fragile thing in the world.

(Lydia knew she was the farthest thing from fragile but it was still nice to be treated with reverence.)

Stiles pulled away for air, gasping in breath. She realized that she was breathing equally heavily. He didn’t go far, though, but he opened his mouth with purpose, eyebrows furrowing.

She didn’t want him to ruin the moment with words, so she crushed her lips back to his again. He didn’t object, immediately reciprocating.

It didn’t really go much farther than that. The kiss was one of adoration, of no expectation to move past it to something else, which wasn’t something Lydia was very familiar with. It was a kiss that took its time. A kiss _purely_ for the sake of a kiss.

It was kind of wonderful.

At least, until she felt something strange in the back of her throat.

An itching sensation. She made a noise and pulled away from Stiles.

His eyes were heavy-lidded and his lips totally flushed. He looked unfocused, reaching blindly for her arm again, but she stepped away. “Lydia?” He asked breathlessly.

That feeling escalated to a burning, and Lydia pushed at his chest when he tried to approach. “Lydia?” he repeated.

She shook her head, because she couldn’t answer, because that horribly familiar sensation was crawling its way up her throat and she couldn’t stop it.

All she could do was open her mouth and scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you: ho why must you always do cliffhangers?  
> me: BECAUSE ITS SO MUCH FUN, JAN!
> 
> (That's a Quentin Tarantino reference) Anyway, what a long-ass chapter this was. I hope MOST of your questions about Kalku etc were answered here, and did you enjoy that kiss?? DIDJA?? It's only been coming for, what, 44k words ? I wasn't kidding when I said slow burn. And it's still not quite all clear between them. I'm not done playing with your emotions yet. *laughs evilly* 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for all your feedback so far. My muse is well fed by you wonderful people. Let me know in the comments or via tumblr how you liked this update!!! :D


	14. current events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia have some issues to work out; Lydia comes up with a plan. Everyone is impressed but confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda filler, kinda. Kinda not. It's mostly just necessary, trust me, for the final act of this story. Speaking of the 'final act', I just finished fleshing out in detail this last arc and was positively outraged to find that the end chapter count would turn out to be ~ 18/19. I'm personally offended by this number. So I'm probably going to have to stretch/split it to 20 because, just because. 20 chapters=closure for the author, 19=eternal rage instead.

People often asked Lydia what it felt like when she was in the process of finding a dead body. A stupid question, really. She was never really aware of it. Take tonight for example.

Her own existence seemed to distance itself from her, and she was only vaguely aware of a familiar voice saying her name over and over again as she walked with a purpose that transcended everything else.

Because she wasn’t _just_ Lydia Martin, no matter how much she wanted that to be the case. She’d fought all her life to shape her identity into what she wanted and in the end it didn’t even matter. Life was cruel like that. It flung her hard-earned, entirely human uniqueness all away and labeled her first and foremost as a banshee; and at the essence of it she was death itself, coming to call.

And when she blinked her eyes again and reality came rushing back to her eardrums and the fog lifted, she found herself standing in the same service hallway that she’d wandered into only an hour ago, where she’d found Stiles on the floor.

There was someone else on the floor this time- or rather, someone else’s _body_.

Dorothy looked smaller in death, Lydia thought to herself clinically as she meandered over. Less intimidating, with the perennial frown smoothed away from her features, hair splayed around her face in a grotesque halo, and limbs sprawled in an aberrantly ungainly way. Her open eyes were vacant.

As she kneeled down beside the body, reaching a hand out to the woman’s throat to feel for a pulse she knew was not there, she heard a quiet curse behind her. She knew it was Stiles. He had followed, just like he always did. She didn’t react to his presence, but listened to him fumble with his phone and call someone.

She wasn’t sure how long she kneeled there, staring at the dead woman’s body as if the intensity of her stare alone would bring her back, until there was a hand on her shoulder, touching her lightly, breathing, “Lydia.”

Her eyes flickered up to dark brown ones. Scott kneeled besides her. Behind him was Stiles, standing, fidgeting, and looking worried; along with Malia, Cora, and Kira. But she couldn’t worry about that right now.

Because someone was dead and it was her fault. She knew it in her heart just like how she knew, somehow, that this wasn’t the last.

No, this was just a _warning_.

“Lydia, we’ve got to go,” Scott’s voice speared through the thick haze surrounding her thoughts. “The police are on their way up. This is a crime scene.”

What a way to ruin a perfectly good engagement party, thought Lydia macabrely. That was when Sheriff Stilinski (still on the job but close to retirement, bless him) pushed his way through the throng of supernaturals to survey the scene.

Lydia let Scott pull her up gently, and when her knees had straightened up Stiles took over, wrapping his arm around her waist in a gentle, but not totally obvious, support for her rubbery legs.

“What happened here?” The sheriff spoke finally.

There was a silence. Lydia closed her eyes and turned her face into Stiles’ shoulder; she felt so tired. Stiles’ hand instantly came up to cradle the back of her head.

“Did any of you see anything,” the sheriff pressed. “Before my deputies come up, is there something supernatural I should know about here, or should I assume your party planner dropped dead of her own accord?” His tone didn’t leave much room for the second option.

Stiles’ stiffened; she felt it, with her nose pressed against the crook of his neck. “Let the coroner take a look before we assume that,” he said, but even his words sounded kind of empty, halfhearted.

“In this town sometimes it’s better to jump to a certain conclusion,” his father replied darkly. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Now was neither the time nor place to say anything. But her mouth opened anyway, and she lifted her face away from Stiles in order to speak.

“It was the witch.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but everyone seemed to hear anyway.

“How do you know that, Lydia?” Scott asked carefully.

“I… just have a feeling,” Lydia maintained. He seemed to accept that as truth. The one good thing about her powers being so ambiguous, so frustratingly indistinct, was that a small lie like this one was believable.

She felt _his_ gaze on her, though. Weighing into the top of her head, though she didn’t take the bait and look up.

“And why would she do this?” the sheriff asked, rubbing his forehead with a tired hand.

“It’s a warning,” she replied.

“A warning for _what_?”

Wasn’t that the real question. She felt heat in her skin rising, her heart rate going up, her breathing feeling shallower; but then there was a hand on her waist stroking familiar lazy circles that seemed to calm the storm within.

She couldn’t do this alone; she’d vastly miscalculated. It was time to tell them. Some of it, anyway.

She looked Scott in the eye. “We need to talk.”

* * *

 

There was dead silence in Scott and Allison’s living room. Stiles couldn’t believe what he’d just heard- what she’d been keeping from them, she’d literally spoken to the witch during the engagement party, came upstairs like there weren’t several revelations that needed sharing and now she was sitting here on the couch as he and Scott and Allison gaped at her and looking straight ahead with her admirable poker face.

“Lydia,” Scott was the first to speak, “Why didn’t you tell us any of this?”

Lydia swallowed visibly. “I didn’t think she was going to do anything. I thought there was time.”

“You just said she threatened Scott,” Allison pointed out maybe a little aggressively.

“But she said she wouldn’t do anything,” Lydia repeated, but Stiles could sense the defensiveness in her tone.

“And you took that at face value?” Allison shook her head and leaned back in the armchair she sat cross-legged in. “I don’t believe it.”

“Fine, don’t,” Lydia huffed. “That’s not the point. The point is she gave us information.”

“The real point is,” Stiles interjected angrily because he couldn’t take her calm tone anymore, “is that she gave you twenty-four hours to give her what she wants, you didn’t think that was _time-sensitive_ information” he was being sarcastic now but he couldn’t help it, that was just his MO- “and you wouldn’t have told us unless someone literally died, so instead you just came back to the party and acted like nothing even happened.” _And we made out on a rooftop for like five straight minutes_. Anyway, Lydia had been spewing B.S. all night and he intended to call her on it and at least get some proper answers.

“It’s called strategy,” Lydia hissed at him. “You go about business as normal. You don’t let the enemy know you’re rattled.” Oh. So that was all it was- an act of _normality_ , was it?

Stiles glared at her, folding his arms. “Yeah? Well how rattled are you now? How rattled did you look when you found that dead body?” He immediately regretted his callous words when she blanched.

“That’s enough, Stiles,” Scott said softly from where he was Googling wekufes at the speed of light. Stiles shot a glare at him too. He didn’t get it.

“She promised,” Lydia said quietly, but not without steel behind it. “I know her. She keeps her word.”

“Lydia.” He couldn’t help the anger in his words. “One night ago she talked to you to try and get you to help her, you refused, and she set me loose. Tonight she talked to you, you refused, and she killed someone. Are you seeing a pattern here?”

“The only pattern I’m seeing is the one where you continue to be an _asshole_ ,” she snarled, leaning forward.

“Ooookay,” Allison said finally, watching the two of them seethe at each other and maybe it was dawning on her that there was something more at play. “Can you two sort out your issues later?”

Stiles said “no” at the same time Lydia said “yes”. They glowered at each other. Oh, so she wanted to play _this_ game now, did she?

“What does that mean?” Scott wondered from where he was looking at his phone. The doorbell rang. Allison yawned in her seat.

“That’ll be Parrish and the others. Scott, can you get it?”

“Just a sec,” he said absentmindedly, scrolling through the webpages illuminating his screen. “God, this wekufe stuff is weird.”

Allison sighed loudly, making to clamber off her seat. “I’ll get it.”

Lydia jumped from the couch suddenly. “ _I’ll_ get it.”

She was halfway out the doorway already when Stiles stood up to follow her because he knew exactly what she was doing- trying to avoid a conversation that could only happen when the rest of the pack wasn’t here. She wasn’t getting away that easily.

“I guess they’re both getting it,” he heard Scott say with amusement behind him.

She’d only gotten a few steps down the hall before he snagged her by the wrist and pulled her back.

She stopped; the doorbell rang again. “Let go of me.” He couldn’t see her expression.

He released her immediately. “Lydia-” She was already on her way to the door again. “Lydia! Would you listen? I’m going fucking crazy trying to figure out what’s going on in that head of yours.”

She paused again at the desperation that leaked into his words. “I have to answer the door.” Stiles knew what she really meant.

He caught up with her and placed his hand on her wrist, gentler this time. “Let them wait. Or Scott will get off his ass and answer it.” When she said nothing, he pressed on. “You didn’t tell us because you wanted it to seem like everything was normal? It was an act?” He couldn’t help the double-entendre that took over his question. He couldn’t help himself from pleading with her. _Please don’t say it was. I can’t take it_.

“No,” she said at once, and he almost sagged in relief. But she seemed to stiffen at her own words, like she couldn’t believe how readily they’d popped out of her mouth.

“Then you’re definitely lying to us,” Stiles replied, biting his lip in concentration because dammit, when she wanted to be, she was _freaking_ hard to read. “There’s more, isn’t there? There’s a different reason you didn’t tell us.” Her blank expression fell for a moment and he seized the opportunity to examine her expression; astounded at what he found. “You were _afraid_.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” she rejected the notion at once. The doorbell rang again. Scott wandered into the hall, looked at them with raised eyebrows and kept going, but Stiles hardly even noticed. Lydia didn’t seem to either.

“Were you afraid the other night when Kalku had me trying to kill people?” She flinched at that and he felt triumphant. He knew he’d reached jackpot; he hadn’t been dreaming that night, or hallucinating. Something had stopped him from killing those kids that night, and it wasn’t his self-restraint. (He almost snorted at that thought.)

He wasn’t an idiot; he connected the dots. “You met Kalku twice that night, didn’t you.”

She didn’t say anything.

Time to throw another theory out there. “She stopped me from killing those kids.”

Silence, again.

“Why?” No answer. “Dammit, Lydia, why?” The silence only made him more anxious, and his voice grew a little louder of its own accord. “Why would she do that, Lydia? Why?”

She finally snapped.

“Because!” Lydia nearly shrieked, “I made a deal with her, okay? I made a deal with her so that you wouldn’t _slaughter my neighbours with your bare hands_!”

Stiles blanched. Wait, _what_?

The following silence between them was so long and so terrifyingly blank (Stiles was taking several moments to process this information) that they were unaware of the front door opening, only jumping apart when Scott came back down the hall with the rest of the pack at his heels. “You guys coming?”

Lydia had turned away, eyes flitting over the pack behind Scott. “Yes,” and Stiles wasn’t sure but she seemed like she was near tears as she hurriedly followed after the group, leaving Stiles alone in the darkened hallway trying to make sense of it all.

* * *

 

Lydia had made a mistake in telling him. She was barely listening to the group discussion when Stiles slunk back into the room, gaze deadened and nowhere near approaching hers. He walked slowly, as if in a trance, and then fell into an empty armchair. Everyone else was standing and Deaton shot him an odd look but Stiles didn’t seem to notice.

She chewed her lip. She really shouldn’t have told him. He was just going to sit there and use it as something else to blame himself for. But what other choice did she have when he wouldn’t quit _dogging_ her about it?

Well, the truth hurt. She straightened and resolved right then not to let herself feel guilt for telling him the facts. He would just have to deal with it. And besides, if Kalku hadn’t gotten her to agree _then_ , she would have gotten her to agree some other way. If Stiles couldn’t understand that, well, that wasn’t her fault.

“So Lydia,” Parrish’s voice, beside her, broke through her inner monologue. “The coroner’s been thrown for a loop. No signs of external or internal damage on the body. He said, and I quote, ‘If it wasn’t for the fact that she isn’t breathing I’d think she was asleep.’”

Lydia let out a shaky breath. She hadn’t known Dorothy more than a day but the shock of seeing someone you knew dead never got old. She wrapped her arms around herself, half-wishing she’d brought a coat. “I’m not surprised Kalku knows not to leave tracks behind.”

Parrish put a comforting hand on her shoulder in response. “It’s not your fault, Lydia.” She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. It was rather strange interacting with him here. If she really thought back to the last time she’d seen Parrish, she’d been… fucking his brains out, probably. And this Parrish had no idea. Or did he? She didn’t know if the Lydia and Parrish here had a history or not.

Speaking of which, did kissing Stiles technically count as cheating? She hadn’t so much as had a fleeting _thought_ of Parrish in all this time, but then again they’d never really defined what they were. They’d been close for a very long time because of what they both were- harbingers of death, that was- and their shared experience brought them closer in a way that no one else could really understand. But that was where the similarities ended. As people, they had different interests and different values. They’d acknowledged that going in. No, she decided. This wasn’t cheating, because she and Parrish had never been exclusive.

In the meantime, she smiled gratefully at Parrish. His hand didn’t move from its place on her shoulder.

“So any ideas on what to do next, Parrish?” Stiles addressed the ceiling rather loudly. “If you have nothing to contribute, you could leave. Just an idea.” He shrugged.

Lydia rolled her eyes.

Parrish, to his credit, had an excellent poker face. “I need to head out anyway,” he murmured, addressing Lydia only. “Call if there are any updates.” She nodded, and he left after squeezing her shoulder meaningfully in a way that she didn’t think he would have if Stiles weren’t watching. Stiles relaxed a bit in his chair after the front door closed. She refrained from rolling her eyes again. Boys.

“So just to recap, we have twenty-four hours before she comes back for you?” Malia asked. Lydia shook her head slowly.

“She never specified twenty-four,” she admitted guiltily, only now realizing that in her panic she had left a potentially-fatal loophole. Not that the rules even mattered at this point. “Just, ‘one day’. That could mean any time tomorrow evening.”

Scott rubbed his face. “So now what? Are you going to do what she says?”

“That’s the thing,” Lydia muttered and turned to Deaton. “I don’t know. She said harnessing the Nemeton’s power would totally destroy it but-?”

Deaton cut her off, looking considerably wide-eyed. “ _Destroy_ the Nemeton?” Lydia nodded, and Deaton looked stricken at the possibility. “Never mind how much power it must take to completely obliterate the Nemeton from being, but taking into account our knowledge of the multiverse and now how your universe seems like a central point for it, it…” He let out a breath, looking like he was thinking hard for several long seconds. “Lydia, the Nemeton is a great central point of power for any world, I might imagine.”

Lydia nodded.

“Then destroying a central point of a central point… this is a far leap, but…“

Scott jumped in. “You’re almost never wrong, Doc.”

Deaton shot him a small smile before continuing seriously, “It might just unravel the very fabric of existence.”

There was a silence.

“So… let’s _not_ do that, then,” Stiles said.

But something else about what Deaton said was niggling in Lydia’s brain. Existence. What was it that Kalku had said?

 _I don’t really exist_.

And then, the answer, the solution she’d been _looking_ for, suddenly presented itself to her as though it’d been there all along.

Lydia’s heart thundered in her ears as she mulled it over in her mind for several long seconds. God, it was absolutely insane, but it just might work. “She said she doesn’t really exist,” she exclaimed, out of nowhere.

“Yeah, we got that part, Lydia,” Stiles sighed loudly. “That’s kind of the problem. She’s basically God, I mean, how do you fight someone who doesn’t exist?”

Lydia ignored him for the time being. “And when does someone not exist?”

“When they’re dead?” Scott offered after a pause.

“Exactly,” she said excitedly. “And we’re going to use that.” She began to pace, restlessly, while the group watched on. “We’re going to not exist, _with_ her, and fight her together in the one place that she does and the one place she’s not virtually invulnerable.”

“Death?” Kira’s eyebrows shot way up. “Like, as in icebath-die or I-shoot-you-up-with-lightning death?”

“So what are you suggesting,” Isaac said flatly. “Are we going to fill a swimming pool full of ice water and drown in it together? Sounds like my idea of a fun afternoon.” His words were laden with sarcasm. Cora whacked him in the arm.

“We don’t need to do that,” Deaton speculated, catching on. “We’re bringing the war to her turf. We just need something- some _one_ \- else to help us do that.”

Lydia nodded frantically, glancing at Stiles who raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Exactly, and that’s where we’re going to bring her down.”

“I don’t get it,” Malia said with some frustration. “What are we doing?”

But Lydia was on a roll and wasn’t about to stop her momentum now. “She’s been calling all the shots but we’re going to pull a magic trick of our own.” She whipped around in her pacing to see them all gawking at her.

(“ _What_ magic trick?” Cora exploded.

“She’s a genius, don’t interrupt the flow,” Scott replied, almost proudly. “She’ll tell us after.”)

“And to have the best chance of succeeding, we need all the forces on our side,” Deaton noted, pulling a rolled up piece of paper out of his laptop bag and spreading it on the table. It was a map of Beacon Hills; the confused expressions on everyone’s faces let Lydia know that not everyone was as clued in as she and Deaton were. Well, except Stiles. She could see a darkening realization on his face as well.

“The telluric currents,” he murmured.

“Exactly,” Lydia grinned, and then frowned almost immediately after as she bent over the map. “Wait. These lines aren’t right.”

“Yes, they are,” Scott said with confusion.

“The currents in your universe are different?” Deaton’s brow furrowed. “Maybe they’re more connected to all of this in ways that we don’t understand.”

(“Well, I’m lost,” Malia commented.

“Seconded,” Isaac muttered, throwing himself onto a couch.)

Lydia nodded distractedly. “So all that’s left is to see where these all coincide, and set up our trap there.”

“And where’s that?” She, Deaton, Stiles, and Scott all leaned over the map in unison, several different hands going out at once to trace the lines to their connection point.

Stiles groaned when all their fingers bumped into one another at their final destination. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All will be explained in time- buckle up for the last part of the story. If the writing goes well, it's going to be a wild ride ;)
> 
> Btw, have I mentioned I LOVE COMMENTS with a burning passion?? I think I may have mentioned it once. Just once. :P
> 
> (random sidenote: can't get enough of stydia fluff?? you should totally read my little kiss cam AU if you haven't already. yes, i am shameless)


	15. a love like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've set the scene for Kalku, now it's time to wait. Lydia finds a few things to do in the meantime.

There were three in the Jeep on the drive there the next evening- Stiles, Lydia, and the mounting tension between them.

She was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one feeling it. If his fingers tightened over the wheel in a death grip weren’t an indicator of that, then she was pretty sure his clenched jaw and tense shoulders would have tipped her off. Lydia thought to herself that maybe they should have just called Scott and Allison to pick them up. This was a little too awkward. She was prepared for an inevitable confrontation, even had a few good points lined up to knock down any arguments that came her way.

They hadn’t really spoken in private since last night. Lydia could admit to herself that she was dying to know what he was thinking. But she wasn’t going to be the first one to break. As it turned out, he was.

He glanced at her quickly before turning his focus back on the road. “You look nice.” It was clear he was making an effort to keep the words terse, impersonal.

Lydia flipped open her hand mirror and couldn’t help but smirk into it before she slowly pulled a lipstick from her pouch. She knew he was watching in his peripheral vision. Pissed off and _still_ couldn’t help but admire her beauty. That was the kind of aesthetic that Lydia lived for. She pouted her lips and began applying the colour. “I know.”

His white-knuckled grip on the wheel didn’t lessen. And the tension continued to mount.

She capped her lipstick and stowed it back in her purse, now examining the mascara on her lashes and trying to decide if they needed a touch up.

“Is everyone in on the plan now?” he asked anxiously, fingers flexing on the wheel.

She decided her lashes were just fine and snapped the compact shut. “Yes. Everyone is in on the plan, Stiles. It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

His shoulders tensed even more, if that was even possible. “I’ll always worry.” _About you_ , was the unspoken part that Lydia heard anyway.

“Well, you don’t need to.”

“I have to, when you’re always doing something stupid,” Stiles snorted derisively.

Lydia’s eyes flashed. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

The traffic light ahead flashed to orange at almost the last second, and Stiles slammed on the brakes rather harder than necessary before turning his head to glare at her. “Oh, I don’t know Lydia. Maybe I mean when you start making deals with- you know-“ One of his hands came up to gesture into the air aimlessly, “ _evil_ people. I wouldn’t exactly call that smart.”

She folded her arms. “Whatever. Like I had a choice.”

“You had a choice!” he hissed. “And you did- _that_.” He spoke the word _that_ like it was disgusting to him, like the idea of her doing that for him was repulsive.

“Like you haven’t.”

“Like you- What?” He seemed at a loss. Lydia took her time fluffing her curls before elaborating.

“I mean the time you made a deal with Peter Hale so he wouldn’t kill me. And don’t try to deny it.”

He stared at her for so long that he didn’t even notice when the traffic light switched back to green. She nodded to it smugly. “You can go now.”

He slowly turned his head back and continued driving. It took him a few moments to speak. “How do you know about that?” he asked evenly.

She fluffed her hair again in the side view mirror. She’d known about it for a while, actually. “Jackson let slip that you were the one that found me in the lacrosse field,” she replied. “And after a long time, I put all the pieces together.” His silence was gratifying. “Still think I’m some sort of idiot?” Her words were sharp.

“I never said that,” he muttered. “What I _think_ is you’re too damn smart for your own good.”

She rolled her eyes at that.

“And besides,” he added, seemingly gaining steam again, “that’s different.”

“How is it different?” she shot back. “You did the same thing as me. We didn’t have a choice, Stiles, so shut up.”

“Fine,” he snapped back, turning into the parking lot. “You had a choice. You did- _that_ , and you didn’t tell me. You lied to my face. Did I not have a right to know?”

“I just didn’t want you to sit there blaming yourself for everything like you are right now,” Lydia retorted. “It’s in the past, I did it. Whatever. Now can you get over it?”

Stiles ran a hand down his face and let out a miserable laugh, the sound dragging from the back of his throat. “No.” He muttered something under his breath.

She didn’t hear him. “What?” She folded her arms.

“Nothing.” He maneuvered the Jeep into a tight parking space.

“ _What_ did you say, Stiles?”

“I said you weren’t supposed to do it for _me_ ,” he cried out suddenly, jabbing a finger at his own chest and proceeding to gesticulate wildly. “I’m- I’m supposed to do things for you, and you’re supposed to pretend like you don’t care, and that’s how we’ve always worked- you’re not supposed to do this. You’re not supposed to give up anything for me.”

She watched his jaw work for a good long second. He was stupidly devoted to her and it scared her. It also relieved her that he couldn’t see that she felt equally the same way to him. “You’re an idiot,” she decided.

His eyes flickered to her, still full of emotion.

“I’ll give whatever I want to you,” she said, ignoring his choking sound and belatedly realizing how sexual that sounded “And no one, least of all you, can stop me,” she hissed, wrenching open the creaky Jeep door and hopping out.

“Lydia that doesn’t even make sen- _God_!” she heard him yelp in frustration, but she didn’t look back, choosing instead to flip her hair over her shoulder and click-clack her way to the entrance.

* * *

 

Lydia wasn’t fond of nightclubs.

And this one was dark, noisy, and full of sweaty people. Lydia couldn’t help but grimace as she perched herself at the bar, almost hoping Kalku would show up sooner rather than later. A heavy arm of a drunk stranger was suddenly thrown over her shoulders and a slurred, “Hey, babe,” sent her way. She absentmindedly elbowed him hard in the gut as she waved down the bartender. “Gin and tonic,” she yelled over the din. She was going to need a good drink to get through the night. Just one. But she was going to make it count.

“Hey,” Allison chirped, slipping into the seat vacated by the injured drunk. She was looking gorgeous as always, her hair in a messy knot at the back of her head and another simple black flowy dress that she was absolutely killing it in. Lydia knew she had at least a few weapons hidden on her person. “I wanted to ask y-”

“Do you want a drink, Allison?” Lydia offered innocently.

“Um, no but I’ll have a water,” Allison directed the bartender, and he nodded and turned away.

Meanwhile, Lydia’s jaw dropped. She was right. “You _are_ pregnant!”

Allison’s eyebrows shooting up and her answering blush were enough confirmation for Lydia. She clapped her hands on her face, unable to keep a grin from stretching across her face.

“Not so loud,” Allison shushed, swiveling her head around at the people around them; but no one was paying any attention. “No one knows yet- how did _you_ know?”

“Kalku mentioned it,” Lydia confessed, sobering up immediately. “I have no idea how she knows. She was just trying to get a rise out of me, I wasn’t even sure she was telling the truth until now. But-” She stopped at the worried expression on Allison’s face, and the realization that Allison didn’t seem enthusiastic about the prospect at all. “Did- did you not want the baby?” she asked uncertainly.

“No, that’s not it at all,” Allison immediately assured, now fidgeting nervously at her manicured nails. “It’s just, I only found out a few days ago, and with everything that’s been happening I haven’t found time to tell Scott.”

“So what? Tell him later.”

“Well…” Lydia looked at her expectantly and Allison suddenly continued forward in a rush. “I’m thinking about it and does he even want a baby? We never talked about it.” She bit her lip anxiously at the end of her confession.

Lydia almost laughed. _This_ was what her best friend was worried about. She reached her hands out to wrap them around Allison’s fidgeting hands. The trembling fingers immediately stilled. “Allison,” she began, focusing her gaze on their intertwined hands. “Scott is so in love with you it’s practically pathetic.” Allison half-giggled at that. “He’ll love you even more when he hears the news. He’ll want this baby,” she continued earnestly. “And he’ll _love_ this baby. He’s going to be ecstatic. In fact, this little werewolf hunter will never lack for love between the two of you, and the rest of the pack.”

This time Allison did laugh, a big open one, and her eyes were a little shiny in the meager light when her shoulders settled. “When did you become such a romantic?”

Lydia smiled softly at her. “I guess you rubbed off on me.”

Allison’s hands tightened around hers, and Lydia suddenly wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. Because she knew, eventually, if not tonight, she would have to. She’d have to go back to a place where Allison Argent wasn’t and she’d have to keep going.

Maybe Allison felt something of the same, because her hands tightened around Lydia’s. “Speaking of Scott,” said Allison quietly. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Anything,” Lydia agreed immediately. It was not a reply that she would easily give out. But Allison Argent? Dammit, she’d sell her soul if that were what it took.

Allison let go of her hands, bending at the waist to reach for something she’d stored in her boot. She rummaged for a second before finally coming back up with something clutched tightly in her fist. Lydia leaned forward to take a better look. It was a folded piece of paper.

Lydia glanced at Allison, waiting for an explanation.

Allison took a deep breath. “It’s a letter I wrote.”

“To who?”

“Scott.”

Why would she…? It took Lydia a few seconds to register and understand what she meant. “… _Oh_.” The other Scott.

Allison explained quickly what Lydia had already deduced. “I was thinking, how can I get a message to him,” she said quickly. “And this occurred to me. Lydia, I know this is a lot to ask and I should have asked earlier, and I totally understand if you say no…”

“Yes,” Lydia interrupted. “Yes, I will memorize that letter and I will deliver that message, word-by-exact-word, to Scott McCall.”

Allison leaned back in her seat. “Are you sure? I know I’m not exactly giving you a lot of time to memorize it, and it’s kind of long-”

“I have a photographic memory. It’s not going to be a problem,” Lydia cut her off, reaching for the paper. “In fact, I’ll do it right now. Who knows if our plan will even work; this might be the _only_ time.” She opened the folded paper and began to read it. But she didn’t miss Allison’s next words, spoken so softly that she mightn’t have heard them if she weren’t paying attention.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Lydia replied after a pause, now feeling, inexplicably, like she wanted to cry. “You’ll never have to thank me, Allison. In fact, I should thank you.” Oh, what the hell; she might never get another chance. She cleared her throat and said, in a rush as quickly as she could as she stared a hole into the letter in front of her, “Thank you for being the first real friend I had. And thank you for accepting me for me, before _I_ even knew who that was. I- I can’t repay you for that.”

Allison took her free hand again. Then, simply, “You’re welcome.”

Lydia put down the letter for a moment to wipe away a stray tear that had managed to fall from her eye.

“But you _can_ repay me,” Allison continued, and Lydia finally looked her in the eye. “By letting me thank you for doing this.” Lydia smiled at her, maybe a little watery but who even cared about appearance at this point? “I just want him to know I’m okay, and that I want him to be happy no matter what,” Allison whispered, and her eyes were definitely wet too. “I just want him to know,” she repeated, almost as if to herself.

Lydia wondered for a moment about the strength of that kind of love; one that transcended universes. It was indeed something miraculous. She wished she had something like that.

(She did.)

Emotion overwhelmed her with warning, and she bent her head back to the paper, concentrating on memorizing Allison’s beautiful script. Allison fell into silence beside her, re-reading her own words over Lydia’s shoulder, until the bartender came back with their drinks and set them in front of them.

Lydia finished off the letter before looking up at their drinks. “It’s about time. What slow service,” she huffed.

“You’re done memorizing already?” Allison asked with surprise. “It’s been five minutes.”

Lydia shot her a look as she picked up her drink from the counter. “Are you doubting my intelligence?”

Allison laughed. “Never.” She lifted her own water glass. “In fact, I propose a toast,” she teased, “To your intelligence.”

Lydia snorted but complied. “To my intelligence,” she echoed.

Their glasses clinked together.

“May it prosper,” Allison giggled. “May it help you get a Field’s medal.”

They were just about to take sips when a thought occurred to Lydia. “Wait!”

Allison lowered her glass with a questioning look.

“How about a serious toast,” Lydia suggested. “To friendship.” To Allison. To the strange events of her life that let her see her best friend again.

Allison smiled big and raised her glass again enthusiastically. “I _was_ serious. But yes, to friendship. And love,” she added just before their glasses clinked together.

Lydia groaned and they finally took respective sips. “Seriously? ‘Love’? Can’t we keep the boys out of it for one conversation?”

“I was talking about the love between us, but since you bring it up,” Allison said smugly. Lydia cut her off.

“No.”

They both laughed. It felt good. It felt so, so good.

Their conversation was interrupted when “Hey, Lydia!” came from behind her. She turned around.

It was Morgan Lefebvre, dressed to the nines in a teal dress and a big, warm smile. The _real_ Morgan Lefebvre; not the costume that Kalku wore.

So Lydia had no problem getting off her stool and giving the woman a hug. They’d been friends in another life, after all. Literally.

“What a coincidence to see you two here,” Morgan beamed at them both. “I heard your engagement party was lovely, Lydia, I’m sorry I couldn’t attend.” She smiled again, but the attempt fell flat. Lydia knew exactly why she hadn’t shown up. The real Morgan’s husband was dead; it was understandable that she’d not wanted to show up and bring up bad memories.

Too bad Kalku hadn’t had the same reservations.

Lydia and Allison exchanged idle chatter with Morgan, and a dance or two, until the woman said goodbye, stating that she didn’t want to interrupt the girls’ dates with their men. Lydia didn’t bother to correct her, and they waved at her as she disappeared into the crowd.

“She’s nice,” Allison noted as they headed back to the bar. Lydia nodded her agreement.

“Who’s nice?” Scott asked. His penchant for appearing out of nowhere was appearing to be a pattern. This time, though, Stiles was at his side, holding an empty bottle loosely in his fingers. Well, it wasn’t like he could get drunk anyway.

Someone bumped into Allison from behind, sending her forward and into Scott’s chest. He wrapped his arm around her instinctively.

Stiles turned his head to shoot the offending person the evil eye. “Hey! Watch it!” Lydia thought that was rich coming from the man who’s main mode of transportation was stumbling.

“I hate nightclubs,” Scott grumbled. “Why is it that no matter what we do, we always end up here?”

Lydia cast him a glance. “Here, where?”

He gestured around at the scene around them; he hadn’t let go of Allison, and she was now nestled into his side. “You know. Under strobe lights.”

“It’s like a curse,” Stiles agreed. “We can’t escape. Apparently the supernatural is drawn to mixed nightclubs.”

“Might as well make the most of it, while we’re here,” Allison murmured. “Any news?” she directed the question at Scott.

He shook his head. “The pack is patrolling the periphery and the hallways. But I think Kalku’s too smart to let herself be seen, anyway.”

Lydia nodded. “She’ll show herself when she’s ready,” she mused darkly.

“Then we can’t do anything about it,” Scott decided. “Everything that we can do, we’ve already done. We’ve been over the plan a thousand times. So Allison, do you want to dance with me for a song?” His question was sweet, full of adoration, and hope, as if Allison would conceivably say no.

Allison stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his mouth, which he smiled into and then winked at Stiles as he let Allison lead him onto the dance floor.

Leaving Lydia alone with Stiles again. She gave him a cursory, dismissive glance before turning away.

But she _did_ have a photographic memory, so in that one glance she’d immediately analyzed his appearance and deduced that, as usual, he looked good.

He didn’t go away, only sidled closer.

“Your shirt is hideous,” she commented conversationally.

“But you like it,” he said, and his tone was on just this side of flirtatious.

Lydia offered no response. Yeah, the whole flannel thing had sort of grown on her. A little too much for her liking.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, leaning against the bar. At some point his hand came up to settle at her back. She liked the feeling; the comforting weight of his hand searing heat through her dress. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy, but pretended like she didn’t notice.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time?” he asked suddenly, and she sighed inwardly as she looked at his frustrated expression, knowing what he was thinking about.

“I could say the same to you.”

He gnashed his teeth together. Lydia smiled sweetly.

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” she mused.

A beat of silence.

“Wanna go find Scott and Allison with me?” he asked abruptly. “They must be finished their dance by now.”

She might have laughed in a different situation at his offered hand. They were at odds with each other, stubborn and angry and confused because everything between them was complicated, but she still wanted his company. That was just what he did to her, with his big hands and nice cheekbones and bumbling sort of charm and that _look_ in his stupid brown eyes that made her want to melt into an incoherent puddle on the floor. No matter what happened between them, she’d always have a sort of soft spot for this mess of a human being.

She was never, ever going to be able to stop caring about him, she realized right then.

So, oh, what the hell. She pushed off the bar, sauntering forward a few steps (making sure to put a little extra sway in her hips), before looking coyly over her shoulder. He was still standing there, eyes maybe a little too bright to be human, and stock still. “Coming?” she asked with a smirk. “I haven’t got all day.”

He followed.

They didn’t actually get very far in their search. The crowd had thickened considerably since they’d entered, as the night began. She was just barely managing to squeeze past gyrating bodies packed tight as sardines, and searching the endless lines of faces flitting past to no avail- until finally she was giving up- _way_ too much effort to find those two, who were probably still off grinding somewhere- turn around. He was there, right behind her, a silent sigh falling from his lips.

“I don’t see them,” he admitted in defeat.

“Me neither,” Lydia replied, shaking her head, fully intending to head back to the bar.

But they didn’t end up doing that. They ended up dancing instead.

She wasn’t quite sure how it happened. One minute, she was standing a respectable foot apart from him, and the next, they were pressed chest-to-chest and she suddenly had no desire to head back to the bar at all.

His hands were splayed at her waist, hers at his chest, clutching at his flannel collar.

He was breathing rather shallowly, she noticed, eyes wide as they stared endlessly into hers. “I- I still don’t see them,” he murmured, and their faces were far too close for comfort.

Lydia snorted although she was feeling a bit light-headed. “I don’t think you’re even looking.”

“Not really,” he agreed point-blank immediately. His hands tightened at her waist, tracing over the lace parts of her dress so she could feel the pads of his fingers burning a trail on her skin. His eyes flickered hesitantly to hers, and he must have seen something there, because his head bent a little lower to her shoulder, far too reminiscent of a school dance a long time ago.

“God, you’re so… you’re so perfect,” he groaned, and almost in awe. His face turned in to her neck. She could feel his breath on her collarbone.

She was panting, honest-to-god panting, and it made her angry how he could make her like this. She was supposed to drive men crazy, not the other way around. But Stiles had always been the exception to the rule. “I’m not fucking perfect,” she snapped at him, jerking away from the gentle nudge of his nose against her throat.

He chased her, closing the distance again. “No? Well you act like it.” He sounded kind of angry now, too. Good. She could deal with angry.

“That’s what you don’t understand,” she hissed at him even as he pressed his face against her shoulder again, hands’ grip almost bruising her hips. “I’m not perfect. I’m not some goddess that you need to worship.”

“I know,” he snarled, sound muffled slightly into her skin. “I know your imperfections, and I still kind of worship you anyway.”

His words sent a thrill through her veins, which she promptly ignored. Because no, he didn’t get her point. “You think you’re worth less than me and you’re not,” she continued. “We’re the same. I have the right to risk myself for you, just like you do. I have the right to care enough about you to do that. It’s not exclusive to you.”

He finally lifted his head from her neck, thankfully giving Lydia some of her sanity back. His glare was evident even in the dim light. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She seized his collar. “Then learn.”

And then- well, Lydia knew she felt so impulsive in this universe but she didn’t even expect this from herself- she leaned in and kissed him, hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Jeff Davis' obsession with mixed nightclubs. No season is quite complete without the obligatory strobe lights scene.
> 
> This is not a cliffhanger I promise. It's exactly what you think, it's just that I split the chapter in two because it was too damn long, lmao.
> 
> I live SOLELY for feedback.... as you know. ;P


	16. the middle of nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia are interrupted, because that seems to be the running joke in their lives. But there's bigger problems to worry about now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ENJOY THIS LONG-ASS chapter. I didn't feel like breaking this up.

He didn’t respond for a good moment, likely in shock. She gripped tightly at his collar, yanking him closer, daring him to fight, because maybe, yeah, this was a fight. This was frustration un-bottled not yet spilled into words.

He took up the challenge. Maybe in high school he wouldn’t have. But their relationship was on an equal footing now. There wasn’t so much left to hide.

She felt the instant that his body relaxed into her; one hand immediately fell to her hip, the other curling around the back of her neck to haul her closer. His kiss was hard right back, full of his own frustration with her. She bit at his bottom lip, and he groaned in simultaneous pain and arousal.

“You need to stop _doing_ this,” he breathed, pulling away briefly.

“Stop doing what?” she sneered, one eyebrow raising as she ran a hand through his unruly mop of hair. (God, she loved his hair.)

He made something of a growling sound when she yanked at the strands at the back of his head. “You’ve gotta stop jerking me around like this. Make up your damn mind. Do you like me, or not?” His voice was half angry, half pleading.

She kind of scoffed, because what kind of question was that at this point? “Do I _like_ you?” she repeated. “You could say that.”

These words seemed to take him aback for some reason; he blinked at her a few times. She continued.

“Yes, I _like_ you. So why don’t you stop gawking and show me that was the right decision.” Her tone was biting but she couldn’t help it.

He blinked several times, bewildered, mouth opening and closing a few times. And then. His eyes hardened, and she recognized that look with a little thrill down her spine- resolve, the kind he used back in high school when he stopped joking around altogether and really _focused_ on something.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered before leaning in, and Lydia met him halfway. Now their lips met fiercely in sloppy, wet kisses, and his one hand was tracing the underside of her breast and the one resting on the back of her head was dipping into her curls and she sighed quietly into his shoulder when he broke away to drop open-mouthed kisses onto her neck.

But she wanted more.

She pushed against him, pushing him back, and he yielded.

And it was like the crowd parted for them, or maybe she was just pushing really hard, because suddenly she had Stiles slammed into the wall, and he grunted at the impact but that didn’t stop them from what they were doing.

He broke away to say breathlessly, but maybe a little smugly, “You _do_ like me.”

She rolled her eyes because yes, weren’t they past that? “Overconfidence isn’t attractive, Stiles.”

“Neither is stubbornness.” And their lips came back together; His tongue nudged her lips apart and suddenly the kiss had another, searing hot dimension to it. His hands were everywhere, bold, so unlike what she might have expected. But she definitely liked. In fact, she was finding herself becoming quickly overwhelmed by his touch. He didn’t press boundaries exactly, although she kind of wanted him too, but seemed content to kiss and simply let his fingers skim her skin, at one point his hand slid down to the hem of her dress and slightly under it (her breath hitched), long fingers stroking her inner thigh briefly before pulling away.

What a fucking tease.

Struggling at this point to keep control, she rutted up against him, straight where she knew it would affect him the most while she licked slowly into the roof of his mouth, one hand pressed hard against his chest and the other trailing down to his ass.

There was raw lust and - _admiration_ in his eyes when he leaned away to regard her again, like he was realizing he’d never be able to compete with her sexual prowess.

But then determination took over and, _oh_. He was still going to try.

With speed that must have had a little help from his supernatural power, he pushed off the wall, switching them so he had her pinned instead. Looking her straight in the eye (she had no idea until now how hot eye contact was, go figure), one of his knees had parted her legs gently so he could step between them. She widened her stance automatically, letting her arms drape around his neck.

His large hands slid to the sides of her thighs under her shimmery dress, getting a good grip before he paused to flash her a rather mischievous, very _Stiles_ sort of smile that left her out of breath. Without warning, he simultaneously pushed himself impossibly closer and pressed her thighs down with his hands; grinding her down onto his leg. She gasped embarrassingly loud at the friction, head falling onto his shoulder involuntarily; the sensation of the rough denim of his jeans shot straight through her thin panties right to where she was already burning with desire.

He sighed a little at the sound she made, as if _it_ undid him. But she could sense the smug smile that was pulling at his mouth so she pulled away from his shoulder to say primly, “Is that the only move you’ve got? Dry humping is _so_ high school.”

He raised his eyebrows in challenge and repeated the motion, rolling his hips harder, and this time Lydia clamped her mouth shut to stop any exclamations that might try to escape. And then _again_ , this time, slowly and torturously grinding her most sensitive place over his thigh with his head bent to her neck, trying to nudge a sound out of her. He wasn’t going to win.

He bit her neck gently. She came to our senses for a moment to hiss, “Don’t you dare give me a hickey.”

His eyes were totally dilated when he pulled away, breathlessly saying. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound like it. While she was narrowing her eyes at him, he took the opportunity to drag her over his leg again with his large hands, and this time she was unprepared; she released a rather breathy moan.

His quiet laugh was irritatingly gleeful. “What were you saying?”

She refused to acknowledge his victory. “I was _saying_ if you give me another hickey without my permission I’m never letting you touch me again.”

He looked rightfully apologetic at her tone, and seemed to get an idea. “You can give me one,” he grinned, tilting his head back and removing his leg from between hers to give her an inch of space to move.

She stared at the pale expanse of skin before her. There was something about him baring his throat to her that seemed incredibly sexy, even though he was the one who had her caged into the wall.

God, he drove her crazy in so many ways.

She wrapped her arms carefully around his head and was about to lean in. But as usual, they were interrupted. In what had been certainly one of if not the most hot makeout sessions of Lydia’s life, which was saying something.

Over his shoulder, a flash of too bright, blonde hair caught her eye. She froze.

Kalku wore an identical dress to what Morgan Lefebvre had been wearing earlier that night; teal matched with heels and those all-red eyes that turned Lydia’s stomach. The witch watched them, gaze crawling over their stance, before her mouth stretched into something of a smile.

Lydia felt dirty under the witch’s gaze. Not the fun kind either.

“Lydia?”

Her eyes snapped back to his at the sound of his concerned voice. He was now cocking his head at her, looking hesitant and maybe a little afraid, fingers at her hips now fluttering anxiously.

It took her a moment to figure out why those emotions would be on his face when he hadn’t even seen the witch. It was… fear of rejection.

Allison’s words from the engagement party came to her in a rush: “You’re hurting him too.”

Well, she was done with that, she decided right then while looking into the brown irises revealing the heart that feared- no, _expected_ \- to be broken by her. She was done letting her complicated baggage and overthinking ruin everything she had with him.

She leaned in again and placed a soft kiss on his mouth. He melted into it readily, but she was overly conscious of Kalku watching the exchange, now tapping her foot and pointing at an imaginary watch on her wrist.

“I have to go to the washroom,” she murmured to him after she slowly let her lips slide off his.

His eyes widened fractionally at her use of the code phrase they’d agreed on. He played his part anyway. “Want me to come?”

“No,” she said, letting her eyes flicker obviously to where Kalku stood. Stiles frowned and looked over his shoulder, gaze searching the crowd. His eyes swept right over where Kalku was standing, and Lydia’s suspicions were proven correct. The witch had only shown herself to Lydia. Interesting.

He turned back, seemingly having given up, and simply mouthed, “Be careful” before letting go of her and stepping away.

She attempted a smile, but she knew the effort fell flat and so did he. There was never a point of pretending when it came to him; he knew her too well for that.

And Lydia took a deep breath and let her heeled feet follow where Kalku was slipping into the crowd. Suddenly it was a lot easier to move around the throngs of bodies.

Kalku weaving her magic, no doubt.

She joined the witch at the door, where Kalku was examining her fingernails.

“The two of you practicing to shoot a porno in the near future?” Kalku asked, words misleadingly light. But there was a rather ugly undertone beneath that.

Lydia ignored the jab, crossing her arms. Kalku apparently got bored of waiting for a reaction.

“So, finally ready to hold up your side of the bargain?”

Lydia swallowed before answering.

“Yes.”

* * *

 

“Here we are,” Kalku said triumphantly.

Lydia peered over the witch’s shoulder. She’d led Lydia down a set of stairs in the nightclub itself, surprisingly- and it seemed they were now in the darkened basement.

Lydia shivered. “Can’t you turn on a light at the very least?”

The witch turned around from where she’d been walking with purpose to the center of the room. “I like the dark.”

Lydia sighed. It figured.

“But if you insist,” Kalku said with an exaggerated little sigh, snapping her fingers. A single bulb in the corner of the room switched on, illuminating something that Lydia had missed in her cursory lookover.

She nearly gagged. Morgan Lefebvre, the real one, was slumped in the corner of the room, body now thrown into stark relief. Her head was at an odd angle on her shoulders; but even worse than that, her throat was slashed open, blood painting the side of the wall red.

She… she was dead. Obviously.

Lydia’s eyes felt wet as she whipped around. “You- you monster!” she screamed at the witch, who was flipping through a small, black book in her hands. “You _killed_ her- for what?”

“Personal gratification?” Kalku’s answer was almost bored but with an undertone of delight. “I’m just setting the balance between the universes, my dear. Morgan no longer exists in our universe. And now she no longer exists here, either. The multiverse is a little more _balanced_ for it.” She grinned, showing white teeth. “I wasn’t planning on it, really. She just happened to be here while I was looking for you and I thought, oh, what the heck. Might as well help stabilize the plane of existence.” Her mocking tone implied that her reasoning was anything but.

“I- I didn’t scream-“ Lydia whispered, shaking her head in denial, because once again the world was reminding her of how fragile life was, broken so easily.

Kalku rolled her eyes. “I took her… let’s just say I took her somewhere else and killed her first. I didn’t want to alarm you, but then you had to go and whine about the lack of light in the room.”

“You’re not- you-“ Lydia was so upset, she couldn’t even form sentences properly. If the witch’s plan had been to throw her off her game, the ruse had succeeded.

Kalku ignored her stuttering, instead snapping her fingers again, and Morgan’s body was thrown into darkness once again. “Can we get on with things now?” She sat on the cold concrete floor, folding her legs neatly beneath her and setting the black book to the side. “Or are you going to keep crying over someone you didn’t even know?”

Lydia didn’t even care that there were tears streaming down her cheeks as she sat next to the witch. “You’re insane.” This was so, so fucking twisted, she thought miserably as the witch almost gently took her hand in hers.

Kalku barked out a laugh at her words. “No _sane_ person has ever been remembered in history. But I don’t kill people for no reason, you know.”

“Could have fooled me,” Lydia said bitterly, feeling rather empty. “You promised not to kill anyone and you still did.”

The witch shrugged unapologetically. “I said I wouldn’t kill any of your friends. Dorothy was not your friend. And dear alternate-me over there, well that was just _personal_.” She bared her teeth. “I’m sure you can understand.”

“So what- when you can get into every universe out there, are you just going to kill every version of yourself?” The notion was so absurd.

The witch’s response was light but unsmiling. “Maybe.”

Lydia had no response. She felt emotionally spent already. And she knew the night wasn’t even close to over. “You’re _psychotic_ ,” she replied hollowly, as Kalku closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration.

Kalku ignored her and opened her mouth. The words that flowed from her lips were in a tongue that Lydia did not recognize but she could make a good guess as to what language it was. As she’d suspected ever since Kalku let slip she’d used a spell to try to kill her, there was a ritual and spell involved with this kind of magic.

Another part of the plan slipping into place. Now if only she had the energy to feel triumphant about that.

But instead, she felt only tired; her lids closed of their own accord over wet eyes.

_Stiles, now would be an excellent time,_ she thought vaguely. She was starting to feel lightheaded, but she had no idea if that was a product of Kalku’s magic or just her own personal brand of grief.

Kalku’s words picked up speed, and suddenly a ruffling wind had picked up around them as if there were an open window nearby.

Where the hell was Stiles? Her numbness was being interrupted by panic.

Stiles! Now! She screamed in her head, knowing he couldn’t hear her but still trying.

Then again, they had a tether.

Either way, Stiles finally appeared; came rushing out of the shadows, claws outstretched from both hands, and next thing she knew he was behind them and Lydia felt a piercing pain in the back of her neck before she was pulled under completely, the echoing of Kalku’s surprised shriek the last thing she heard.

**UNIVERSE 1.0**

“He fights with a baseball bat?” Stiles’ tone was gleeful.

Scott took a moment to look up from where he was pouring over the witch’s spellbook. Lydia didn’t even look up from where she was scrolling through the bestiary on Stiles’ computer; Stiles was rooting through his own closet in the apartment that he and Scott shared and was now holding up the trademark weapon itself.

Scott shrugged. “He tries, anyway.” Something occurred to him, and his curiosity was peaked. “How do I fight, in your universe?”

“You don’t,” Lydia answered without looking away from her screen. “If you can help it, you don’t.”

Scott leaned back, thinking about how he’d once wished he could just turn it all back. “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t.” He felt a pang of jealousy for the other Scott, who apparently had it all. Now he supposed he knew how Stiles felt.

After a few minutes of Stiles swinging around a baseball bat and Scott and Lydia reading, Lydia suddenly threw her hands up, huffing with frustration. “There’s only a small paragraph on witches in the entire bestiary.”

“Anything interesting?” Stiles asked, tossing the bat up in the air and fumbling with it as he attempted to catch it.

She shook her head slowly. “Not really… Although, there is a mention of dark spirits that worked with witches.”

“And?” Scott pressed.

She looked up from the screen. “They become united. Inseparable, after a while.”

“I wonder if Kalku knows that,” Stiles said with a snort, coming over to Lydia’s desk chair to rest his chin on the top of her head. She immediately shook him off with a frown. “Do you know how much effort it takes to create this look?” she demanded, swiveling in the chair and pointing at the braids wrapped around her head.

“No,” Stiles said bluntly. “Looks beautiful, though.”

Scott watched Lydia’s glare melt slightly into something warmer. Stiles had always had that effect on her. With a slight smile, he turned back to the witch’s spellbook translations Deaton had provided them with.

He could still hear them talking though, murmuring really. “There’s quite a few bobby pins involved,” Lydia was saying.

“Now _that’s_ witchcraft. I do like the look,” Stiles replied briskly. “But you know what look I like better?”

“Mmhmm?”

Scott bent his head lower over the book as his best friend’s voice got a little quieter and a little huskier. “When its spread all messy over my pillow after we -” Scott heard Lydia hit him on the arm and was frankly glad. He loved the two of them but he wasn’t keen on hearing about their sex life.

He waited for Lydia’ reprimand, but unexpectedly, there was complete silence after the sound of Lydia hitting Stiles. He looked up and craned his neck around curiously.

They were gone.

Completely, just… _gone_. The desk chair Lydia had been sitting in was swinging slowly in a circle.

“Lydia?” he asked carefully to the air, “Stiles?”

Nothing. They were gone without a trace, without a warning. There was no way Scott wouldn’t have heard them leave with his hyper-aware senses.

Scott pulled his cell phone from his back pocket, already getting a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Because this just _had_ to do with the witch.

**NOWHERE**

When Lydia had told them all her plan, Stiles had just nodded along and also thinking about how it was possible that he could fall more in love with her at every word that came out of her mouth. God, she was just so smart.

But when his eyes opened, he was starting to think that this whole thing? Hadn’t been as smart of a plan as they’d thought.

The first thing his eyes registered was… white. All around, white. And then, startling recognition- it was that place, the same place he’d come after being drowned in a bathtub. The same place he’d been trapped when the Nogitsune had taken over his body. The place he, Stiles Stilinski, had arrived each time he ceased to exist.

The second thing he realized was how dull everything seemed. Sure, he could hear someone stirring next to him, but the sound wasn’t crinkling loudly in his eardrums, making his head pound from sensation.

The third thing he registered, when he lifted his head off the cool white ground, was that he was wearing a different shirt and was clutching a baseball bat in one hand.

These revelations led him to three different conclusions: One, he really should have seen this coming. Two, he wasn’t a werewolf anymore; both a blessing and a curse. Three, he hadn’t just changed from a werewolf to a human; he’d switched bodies again and he was not only mentally here, but physically also. Which was unprecedented.

He slowly clambered up from the ground, and saw Lydia in a crawling position next to him, no longer wearing that shimmery dress from earlier, but rather cut-off jean shorts and one of her cute three-quarter sleeve tops.

He reached down automatically under her arms to pull her up. Her head whipped around, taking in their surroundings.

“Lydia,” he said urgently, “I-”

“We switched bodies again,” Lydia interrupted, voice monotone. “Both of us.”

He frowned. “How do you-“ he stopped when he saw what she was looking at.

They’d woken up on one side of the endlessly large white room, but on the other side, he could make out two figures clambering up from the ground as well. The shorter one was wearing that shimmery dress Lydia had been in and the other… well…

Well, Lydia had been right, at least. To switch them back, Kalku needed to bring both pairs to a plane of non-existence. Stiles had just interrupted the process by using his newly-gained alpha powers to tap into both Lydia’s and Kalku’s consciousness’s at the same time, bringing him with them.

The small, victorious smile pulling at Lydia’s lips told him she was thinking the same thing.

Suddenly, the world seemed to flicker, plunging them into darkness for the smallest breath of a moment and barely enough time to react before it started again, blindingly white. Except, now there were a few differences.

The walls seemed to be gone; instead, surrounding this huge white space, were endless amounts of white doors with seemingly nothing behind them. Stiles turned around in a three-sixty on the spot, and the doors stretched far past his line of sight. It was like Monsters Inc., but with more evil involved.

And when he turned back to the center of the room, Kalku now stood swaying there with her head bowed, between the two pairs of Stiles’ and Lydia’s. Directly behind her was a single white door, placed directly at the midpoint of the room. There was nothing particularly significant about this door; but somehow it seemed to shine brighter, call louder than any other one. It nearly had him transfixed, at least until Kalku spoke.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” Kalku’s voice was slightly unhinged.

Beside him, Lydia’s chin came up slowly, and he was so proud of her, this goddess genius warrior strategist love of his fucking life. “Maybe you shouldn’t have underestimated me.”

“No,” Kalku agreed, and although she was so far away, he could hear her voice like she was right next to them (not a comforting thought at all). “In hindsight, it should have been obvious to me that Stiles had somehow switched between universes too. Which makes all this possible, doesn’t it?” She swept her arms around and he could see her dark eyebrows raising.

“Stiles, look,” Lydia hissed at him suddenly, nudging his arm. He followed her gaze back to the other Stiles and Lydia and saw more that he hadn’t before-

Scott, Liam, Allison, Kira- he stopped trying to catalogue when he realized- the entire _pack_ were clambering up from the ground slowly behind those two, all wearing the clothes they’d donned for the nightclub. They were all here too.

The stakes had just been raised.

“Well,” Stiles finally managed to muster a response, “that was unexpected.”

“I’ll bet it’s because of the alpha thing,” Lydia whispered back, but before he could reply, Kalku spoke again.

But she wasn’t speaking to them. She threw her head up to the heavens and the words she uttered were utterly incomprehensible to Stiles.

“She’s definitely cursing us into infinity right now,” Stiles commented, trying to ignore the way his heart rate kicked up with fear.

Lydia’s response didn’t help. “Worse.”

The next moment, Kalku had raised her arms slowly, and fast as a whip brought them back down again. It was at the slashing downwards motion that the world seemed to flicker again, and this time when it was brought back to light, Stiles decided that Lydia was a queen of understatements.

The Nemeton- or a mockery of it?- had appeared next to Kalku, except it was upside down- the winding roots reached up into the sky like branches and the sky had darkened with clouds and Kalku was laughing madly at it all because there was _more_.

Dark shapes were rising suddenly from the ground; everywhere, dozens of them, in the free white space.

No way, he thought desperately, because that was the only thought that came to his head, no way. No way could they be here. But he knew that his eyes weren’t really deceiving him. They were here.

* * *

 

This was a cruel joke.

Lydia and Stiles backed up slowly as a few of the Oni had appeared near them, the rest towards the pack on the other side of the room. The white sky above them darkened until it was black with stormy clouds.

“You like this scene, Lydia?” Kalku called smugly from the center of the room. “Remind you of anything? No? How about you, Stiles?” Her words were laden with meaning, and Stiles’ mouth flattened into a hard line.

“What about you, Scott?” she called, turning her head to speak to the other side of the room. “… _Allison_? Any special memories?”

On the other side of the room, the werewolf Stiles’ eyes glowed red and he growled, “Shut the _fuck_ up.”

Kalku’s eyes burned just as brightly. “Oh, _that’s_ not nice.”

And the Oni began to move; began to approach.

Stiles bounced his baseball bat nervously in his hands as he watched. “Lydia? Can you hold them off until we can get to the others? Because I don’t think I’m gonna be very effective here.”

She nearly smiled, but she was too focused on the figures in front of them. “On three, we run,” she commanded, summoning more power at her fingertips as the Oni approached again.

“Like hell,” he agreed.

“Three.” She watched them approach, with their swords drawn. “Two.” She felt her face twist into a snarl as the energy thrummed in the pit of her stomach. “One!” The whisps of energy shot from her palms, hitting the Oni square in the chest and throwing them back several feet.

They took off across the wasteland of white to where the pack from the other universe were holding their own. Stiles was faster than Lydia; had always had to be a fast sprinter in order to survive. He slowed down for her, but Lydia knew the Oni were right on their heels.

Speaking of heels, Lydia shed her pumps in order to run barefoot, accepting his outstretched hand and letting him pull her faster along as the passed the center of the room, where Kalku leaned against the mock Nemeton, laughing madly.

She didn’t have to look back to know how close the Oni were; She could practically feel them bearing down at their backs. And when a sword came down on her leg, grazing her skin, she could barely register it except for a quiet gasp of pain.

But they made it, and the pack readily accepted them into their circle.

They gasped for breath heavily, and Stiles held tightly onto her hand as they and Scott watched the rest of them swirl around them, the warriors that they were. Cora, Malia, Liam, Isaac with their claws out; Kira with her sword, eyes alight with the foxfire; Allison with her crossbow and hard expression; the other Lydia, looking fierce in her ripped shimmery dress and admirable snarl; and at their head, their alpha Stiles, claws out, fully wolfed out, and leading the offensive.

Lydia tugged free from Stiles.

“What are you doing?”

She spared him a glance, feeling the power crackling in her bones, making her hair stand on end like static electricity. “I want to help.”

“Lydia,” was all he managed to get out before she turned, not wanting to hear that pleading note in his voice, because that was the only force in the world that could make her hesitate from doing what she wanted.

She jumped into the fray.

And they were all fighting, all barely holding on, and Kalku, she stood in the middle of the room with an amused expression.

“These aren’t real Oni,” Allison cried out as she shot another with an arrow. “They’re going down without silver arrows. This is just an illusion.” And they were less skilled, Lydia noted. Kalku couldn’t really _recreate_ the Oni. She just chose to take their shape as an opponent. It was all a mind game.

The alpha Stiles glanced her way as he knocked an Oni flat on his back, a smile tugging at his lips. “So what? Stop fighting them, is that it?”

Just then, one of the dark figures had stabbed Liam straight through the leg, and he howled his pain into the sky before retorting, “There’s wolfsbane on their swords, I wouldn’t recommend that!”

But Lydia knew- they had to get to Kalku. This would only stop with Kalku. And she _knew_ that she could defeat the witch. Because- and this was all part of her shaky theory- the witch’s magic appeared to act awry when it came to a banshee.

Just looking at the evidence she had, anyway- that fateful night, her first introduction to Kalku, Kalku hadn’t been fighting to kill, but as soon as Lydia had used her power on her, the witch had been affected more than anything else the group had done. And immediately she tried to kill Lydia.

But even _that_ hadn’t worked. And whenever Lydia had attempted to take the offensive with Kalku later on, Kalku had simply dodged, not daring to engage. Because, with Lydia’s theory anyway, the witch knew. The witch knew Lydia’s power.

So, two banshees against one witch in her most vulnerable place? Lydia was willing to bet on her own odds.

“We have to move forward,” Lydia yelled. “We have to get to Kalku.”

The rest of the group seemd to take to that immediately and unquestioningly; slowly the battle lines inched forward.

At some point, Lydia caught the witch’s eye, and it was much closer than she had expected; they’d made progress. The witch now had a rather mixed expression on her face. Amusement (of course), but there was also… anticipation and curiosity.

She broke her gaze away just in time to see an Oni swinging his sword straight at the other Lydia’s back.

And Lydia wanted to cry out, but she knew there wasn’t time, the other Lydia wouldn’t hear, she was too busy with the Oni in front of her-

A baseball bat came slamming down onto the Oni’s head, exploding into a thousand pieces. The Oni only took time to shake it off, but it was all the time the other Lydia needed to jump out of the way.

Meanwhile, the Oni turned slowly on Stiles, who looked down at his stump of a weapon, mouthing something that sounded like “Not again,” before stumbling back, fear and yet defiance bright in his eyes, as the Oni approached him, slowly but surely, gloved hand curling at his sword-

Not enough time, Lydia thought desperately.

But she leaped forward anyway, crashing into the side of the Oni’s sword at the same moment he struck.

He missed his mark, his aim shot awry by Lydia’s intervention; but the hilt of the sword hit Stiles in the head with the brunt of the force and a sickening crack sound, and he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Stiles,” she shouted, but as she ran to him, she was blocked by another Oni. She let out a cry of frustration as she leaned back from his parries.

“I’ve got him!” she heard Scott bellow from the other side. “Don’t worry, I’ve got him. He’s okay.”

Scott was heaven-sent.

The Oni were dropping like flies all around them, but the crowd of them seemed, if anything, to be thickening. She knew it was Kalku’s doing, and if the grunts of her pack were any indicator, it was affecting them.

She sent a powerful burst of power at the one she was fighting, and he burst into a spark of light. “Kalku!” She shrieked, charging through the crowd towards the witch, who slowly pushed off the Nemeton. “You have to stop this!”

“Why?” Kalku challenged. “You double-crossed me. I think I have the right to a little payback.”

She heard a grunting sound to her left; she turned and saw Isaac barely restraining an Oni who had the tip of his sword mere inches away from her back. She turned briefly to kick the Oni straight in the chest, sending him crashing back, before whipping her head back to Kalku, who had arranged her features into a bored expression.

At least, until Lydia spoke. “I finally know why you’re doing all of this.”

The battle almost seemed to fade away from them both when Kalku heard those words. She narrowed her red eyes. So Lydia went to elaborate, her trump card, her last advantage on Kalku.

“It’s because of John. Your husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I know I'm depicting stydia kind of frustrated and sexual right now, but i promise.. the feels will flow later ;)  
> -Aaaaand as always, tell me how you liked it! Thanks so much to everyone who leaves comments, whether just once or every chapter, you're pretty much 99% of my motivation :P


	17. everything that can go wrong

Kalku seemed at a loss for words for a moment, eyes widening fractionally.

Lydia continued. “He died of cancer. You told me; he left you a widow. I just knew there was no way for you to fake that kind of pain like that pain in your voice the day you confided it to me.”

“Shut up!” the witch roared, but she still didn’t make a move.

“I know how it must absolutely kill you inside,” Lydia said louder over top of all the chaos around them, but it felt like it was only the two of them now. “Because there’s no one for you to take revenge on. It was his own body going against him. You could have chosen to move on. But you didn’t. _You_ chose not to get over it.”

“What would you know?” the witch sneered.

“I know,” Lydia said, and her voice felt like it was thundering, echoing somehow on the endless walls of this white purgatory. “Because I know you. Our friendship wasn’t all fake and I know I’m not the only one who thinks that.” As much as it hurt her to know that the person standing in front of her had once been a friend. “You chose to embrace your powers because they fed your rage at the world.”

Kalku wordlessly seethed, eyes glowing brighter with every word Lydia spoke.

“You’re trying to find a universe where he’s still alive,” Lydia concluded, and with those words falling from her mouth, despite herself and everything the witch had done, she felt a little sad for the other woman- not Kalku, the witch who murdered so many in cold blood- but Morgan, the woman who had quietly confided her husband’s death to her- Lydia’s _friend_ from another life, Morgan. “That’s why you want access to the whole multiverse.”

Kalku laughed and it sounded a little unhinged. “Foolish of you to think, Lydia. I’ll have all the power in the universe but you think I’m only here for _him_?”

“I think you were, at the beginning,” Lydia said quietly. “But I think you’ve lost your way, Morgan.”

The witch almost flinched at the sound of her own name.

Lydia took a step forward closer to the witch. “I think you’ve gotten drunk on power.” She nodded at the witch’s red eyes that had once been so clear, so blue, so warm and so recognizable to Lydia. “I think that wekufe that convinced you to kill your coven is _still_ convincing you. It’s still trying to convince you that you’re the kind of person who would do horrible things.”

“I do what I have to do,” Kalku said, brushing it off.

“But is it worth it?” And suddenly, the _other_ Lydia was speaking too, having disengaged from the battle, and them two Lydias were both taking one more step towards the witch, who had (subconsciously or not) taken a small step back. “How do you even know that there’s a universe where he’s alive?”

“There’s an infinite number of universes,” Kalku hissed at the other banshee, having subtly shifted into a slightly defensive stance.

“Getting cancer isn’t a choice,” Lydia pointed out. “Maybe it was just genetic. Maybe it was just a matter of time.” She swallowed, the words bringing a pang to even her own throat at the thought that everything… all of this, Morgan giving up her _soul_ for it… may have well been fruitless. “Maybe there was nothing anyone could have done.”

Kalku’s façade broke at that. “Well maybe he’s still alive!” She screamed at them, voice cracking, hands trembling, crackling with magic at her fingertips. “Maybe I can save him! Wouldn’t you take that chance Lydia? If it were…” Her voice changed suddenly, from emotional to sly, and her eyes glowed, “If it were _Stiles_ on the line?”

Lydia never got to answer that (maybe just as well).

The witch’s eyes were glowing far too red, redder than they’d ever been, nearly floursecent. All Lydia could do was watch as they brightened and brightened and brightened before, quite suddenly, the colour faded all at once, irises blue as the sky and whites of her eyes intact like Morgan Lefebvre’s.

It took her a moment to digest this, and then register with horror something else.

And Lydia could only watch with horror as something- a wisp, a sinister laugh in the air- that was an awful dark red, like a bloodstain- drew itself from Morgan’s open, laughing mouth and it hovered in the air for a moment and hurled like a comet straight towards the alpha werewolf Stiles.

There was no time to warn anyone; all they could do was watch in the milliseconds that followed.

She could tell as soon as it impacted- his spine jerked straight. And his head whipped to the side in an unnatural movement, but Lydia could see his eyes. They were flaring blood red.

The entire _eye_ was blood red.

The wekufe was in Stiles now.

“Stiles!” cried the other Lydia besides her. She began to run towards him. Lydia, meanwhile, knew she had a different mission. She turned back to the witch, approaching with purpose now while feeling the burgeoning of power in her fists.

“What did you do?” She screamed, and sent a blast of power at Kalku- no, Morgan. “ _What did you do_?”

Morgan barely dodged the blow, a malicious smirk on her lips even as she was cornered against the Nemeton. “The wekufe didn’t possess me. But I never said it couldn’t possess _anyone_ ,” she said slyly.

Lydia turned to see the possessed Stiles walking with a purpose, claws out, face in a mask. The other banshee had run to him but he’d backhanded her without a second glance, and she fell to the floor, groaning. No one was able to stop him, still too engaged with the Oni. Her eyes followed his path.

He was walking- slowly, as if struggling against a current of water- towards Allison.

She opened her mouth in warning, but it was then that Morgan, taking advantage of her lapse in concentration, chose to slam into her with her own explosion of power.

“Don’t try to stop this now,” Morgan hissed.

Lydia rolled over on the floor back onto her hands and knees before clambering up. “It’s over, Morgan,” She returned, willing her heart rate to return to normal. She couldn’t help them if she couldn’t think rationally. “You’re not going to win. I think you know that. So _stop_.”

The witch’s lips twisted into something a mockery of a smile as she accepted that fact; she’d been duped. “If I can’t get what I want, why should you?”

“I just want all of us to get out of this alive,” Lydia returned, thinking that Scott would have been proud of her for saying that.

“I don’t,” Morgan said with a little sigh, her blue eyes still tracking Stiles’ unhurried footsteps. “You know this was meant to be, my dear. Allison was marked for death. The universes need balance. They’re going to get it; I’m just helping them along.”

Lydia snapped, anger surging through her all at once. “It _doesn’t_ \- _have to- be_ thatway!” She screamed, hurling energy at the witch with every word, and this time the witch took it, falling back with every blast and a deranged grin on her face. Lydia was desperate- there had to be some part of Morgan left in there, especially with the wekufe gone. She tried to appeal to that. “You know what it’s _like_ to lose a spouse. Would you wish that on anyone?”

There was a breath of a pause, and perhaps she imagined the flicker of remorse that crossed Morgan’s expression because she so badly wanted to see it. But it was fleeting, and a wicked smile crossed her lips. “I’d wish it on my worst enemy. And that’s whoever stopped me from achieving my goals- so, you.”

Lydia’s heart kind of broke in that moment. Morgan was long gone. Maybe Scott would hold out hope for her. But Lydia wasn’t Scott.  She didn’t have that kind of patience or faith.

What she had was guts.

She strode decisively to where Morgan was sagging against the Nemeton for support, grabbing the witch by the collar of her dress and wrenching her up to eye level.

Those blue eyes were empty. There was no distinction between Morgan and Kalku anymore. Morgan was gone, but Allison was still _here_ and Lydia was willing to do whatever it took to save whoever she could. Lydia’s voice adopted a dangerous tone. “ _Stop_ him.”

Morgan simply shook her head lazily, almost as if tired. Her head hit the Nemeton behind her and her eyes closed, lids not even fluttering when Lydia shook her furiously. The witch’s next words, uttered almost casually, breezily, were “Nothing can stop him now.”

“Stiles or the wekufe?” Lydia demanded through gritted teeth.

“Both,” was the simple answer.

And then Lydia was turning on the spot, dropping Morgan because she knew, she could feel it in her _bones_ that something terrible was about to happen.

And it all happened so _fast_ and yet so frustratingly slow.

Stiles had reached Allison, and Allison had just knocked down the Oni she’d been fighting. Stiles bent mechanically and picked up the Oni’s sword. Allison followed the hand that had picked up the weapon, finding Stiles and, having missed all that had happened, Lydia saw her mouth in confusion, “Stiles…?”

“Allison!” she screamed, and this time Kalku couldn’t stop her. “Watch out!”

It was too late. She felt it.

The sword in Stiles’ hand came up, swinging up in a sickening, all-too-familiar arc.

Allison’s eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen.

“No!” came the roar from Scott, too far away to do anything. They were _all_ too far away to do anything.

That sword came down in a shiny blur, too fast for the eye to see with the supernatural strength put behind it.

* * *

 

**A LOCKER ROOM IN BEACON HILLS HIGH**

Stiles came to with a gasp, surrounded by darkness. Blinking rapidly, he quickly got his bearings- he was sort of used to waking up in strange places at this point.

He was standing straight, in a small, tight and enclosed space. His face was level with slits in the wall that allowed a small amount of light to filter in.

He immediately recognized his location. He was in a fucking locker.

He groaned loudly, his head falling back to hit the metal. This was not his day.

He heard a voice.

“Is someone there?”

It was _his_ voice.

And it was coming from the locker next to him. He immediately straightened. “It’s me,” he called, pounding on the wall next to him. “Me.”

The other Stiles took a moment to answer. “Me,” he echoed. “Where the hell are we?”

Stiles turned and ran his hand absentmindedly over the slits in the locker door; he could see what was happening out there, through the light filtering in. The events didn’t really register in all of their urgency at the moment, though. “We’re in my… our… head. Kind of. More like we’re locked out of it.” He knew the other Stiles probably wouldn’t know this place. Although, there was no Nogitsune walking around creeping him out, which was definitely a plus.

The other Stiles took the information like a champ. “Which body, yours or mine?”

“I dunno,” Stiles admitted. “I don’t get why we’re both here.”

Neither said anything for a bit, and the silence was heavy with their own breathing until the other Stiles spoke.

“What now?”

“Allison’s in trouble,” Stiles replied calmly, oddly so as he peered through the slits in the door as if watching a mildly interesting match of chess. “We’re about to kill Allison.”

There was a pause, and the other Stiles replied equally calmly. “We probably shouldn’t do that.”

“No,” Stiles agreed serenely. “Which is why we have to break out.”

There was silence for a long while. “How?” his voice was bleak, and Stiles heard the lock on the door next to his jiggle. “The door is locked.”

But was it? Stiles thought, giving the door an experimental tug. It didn’t budge, so he kept pulling. Ridiculous. He’d broken out of his own head before and he could do it again-

As that thought ran through his head, the metal bent outward just _slightly_ where his hand had pushed it. He stared at it, wide-eyed, for a long second, before coming to a conclusion.

“Only if you think it is,” He replied firmly. “We believe we can get out, we will. And we have to get out together or it won’t work.” This came out of his mouth without any thought put into it at all, but to him, it made sense. There was a certain significance to these kinds of actions that made them so much more powerful. “I’m not letting Allison die,” he said louder now, clearer. “I had to go through that before. I’m not doing it again.”

He could almost hear the other one nodding. “I can see through the slits in the door.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s not enough time to stop us.”

“I know.”

“How are we gonna –?”

“You know how,” Stiles replied darkly.

The silence was deafening between them as they contemplated it.

“Let’s do it,” the other Stiles said finally, voice hard and unforgiving before giving way to a tiny bit of uncertainty. “You think we can do it?”

Stiles couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Trust me when I say this little prison has nothing on the Nogitsune. Right,” Stiles steeled himself, and before he hurled himself at the door, he said with a little amusement, “I can’t believe we’re actually getting along.”

The two Stiles’ threw themselves at their respective doors. The metal groaned but the door didn’t open.

“I expected you to be a douchebag,” the alpha werewolf called, and Stiles could hear the grin on his face. They threw themselves at the doors again, and the metal bent this time. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the hinges, his arm throbbing. He wasn’t going to stop here.

He had a chance to save Allison this time. And there was no way in hell he wasn’t going to take it.

“If I am, so are you. We’re _literally_ the same person,” Stiles snickered.

“But I’m marrying Lydia. I think I did something different there,” the other Stiles pointed out smugly. Stiles couldn’t argue with that so he switched to a new tactic as he lined up for another push, summoning all the determination he had because if there was one thing he had, it was that; an all-consuming desire to protect the people he loved.

“I’m still more handsome.”

The other Stiles scoffed. “Oh, fuck _off_ -”

The doors burst open simultaneously, dangling from their hinges, and both versions of Stiles hurtled into the unknown.

(The entire exchange happened in the space of milliseconds, but later Stiles could have sworn it took lifetimes to occur.)

* * *

 

**NOWHERE**

Blood splattered onto the pristine white floor.

But it wasn’t Allison’s, Lydia realized belatedly. The sword was imbedded incredibly deeply, visible through the other side, twisting as if making the decision final.

Into Stiles’ own stomach.

He made a strange choking sound, and at the same time the unnatural red faded from his eyes leaving only his alpha irises behind. His hand jerked and the sword slipped out, clattering with a loud finality to the floor.

The whole world seemed to pause in that moment.

Behind Lydia, the witch made a choking sound not unlike Stiles’.

The alpha’s unnaturally red irises flared brightly once and then faded to his normal red irises. His lips parted, and something like smoke breathed from his mouth but this time it didn’t go anywhere. It simply disintegrated, dropping like dark red ashes to the floor dusting the otherwise perfectly white tile.

The wekufe was dead.

Which meant… Lydia was barely able to keep up with the events as they occurred- Morgan …

Everything flickered again; leaving them all in darkness for the merest moment; and this time, when it came back, the Oni were gone. The pack was left bewildered, standing there in battle stances, halfway through lunges and adrenaline rushes and blood-spattered party clothes.

But more than that- The Nemeton was gone.

And all that remained of the illusion was Kalku. Lydia whipped her head around to look.

The witch lay sprawled on the floor where the Nemeton had been, eyes glazing over steadily; she clutched at her own stomach, but there was no wound.

No, it was someone else who was wounded, and Lydia’s brain finally caught up with the events of the last few seconds and she turned, turned desperately towards Stiles, hoping against hope-

He still stood near Allison. His glaringly red eyes widened and he was stock still before suddenly, without warning, he pitched to the ground.

Lydia felt rooted to the spot but watched Allison catch him in his fall, but, unable to support his weight, was only able to gently lay him on the ground.

She saw the other Lydia’s look of pure anguish as she ran forward, as if she _knew_ already, as Stiles craned his neck up to look up at his Lydia. “Lydia,” he said, simply, but he looked triumphant even so close to death, having been stabbed with a sword laced with wolfsbane. The wound was gaping and blossoming red on his shirt but he didn't seem to notice- He’d done it.

The other Lydia cradled his head. “Shh. Shh. You’re going to be okay, alright, Stiles? Just hold on, okay? We’re going to patch you up. We’re going to get you out of here,” she crooned, voice shaking.

But those lively eyes were already glazing over, and no no no _no_ , this could not be happening, Lydia thought from where she was frozen, watching as if she were in a dream- it could not be possible that he was fading from life so fast, his life sparking out as if he had never burned as brightly as he once did. “Promise?” he asked weakly, a small half-smile tugging at his lips.

That was when Scott and Isaac skidded to his side, tears glazing the cheeks of Stiles’ best friend. “C’mon, buddy. You can do it, look at me. Stiles.” Stiles didn’t, the twinkle in his eyes fading rapidly. “ _Stiles_!” Scott barked again furiously through tears, and Stiles’ eyes immediately cleared momentarily.

“Scott,” Stiles returned, and the word seemed to hold so much meaning, so much more he wanted to say, hovering in the air for long seconds after. It seemed he had a lot more to say, but whenever he spoke, a flicker of pain crossed through his eyes and Lydia knew it was taking him everything he had just to utter that monosyllable.

Scott seemed to deflate into himself at the word that came out of his friend’s mouth, like it was the worst thing he could have said, and Lydia knew why. The words that Stiles usually used so liberally seemed to have failed him- And so he’d picked the one thing he could say that would say everything. And there was only one reason why he might do that.

“I know,” Scott reassured, voice breaking slightly. “It’s okay. I- thank you.” Stiles mustered a smile again at his best friend, and then at Allison, who’s eyes were blurring with tears as she attempted a smile as well and mouthed a “thank you”.

(There just wasn’t enough time, Lydia thought helplessly. Scott had once quietly told her of the circumstances of Allison’s departure from the world, how he’d been able to have a whole conversation with her as she slowly bled out in his arms. And here was Stiles, barely able to get out a word; it hadn’t been more than thirty seconds since the sword has sliced down.)

Isaac, for once, had nothing snarky to say to his alpha, wordlessly taking Stiles’ free hand and squeezing it once. Lydia watched the dark veins pass up his forearm, and Stiles’ eyes closed briefly, seemingly gathering strength for one last breath. Scott cradled Stiles’ head, stroking his hair back, mouthing the same pleading words with a furrowed brow. Allison was at his shoulder, crying opening now, face twisting in grief. They were all crying. They were all crying, except for the Lydia who still stood rooted to the spot, watching it all unfold in front of her.

“Stiles,” the other Lydia sobbed now freely, tears staining her cheeks. “You stupid idiot, you stabbed yourself. What kind of…” She swallowed and acknowledge the word, “ _death_ is that? Please. Please don’t leave me.”

Those words were full of all the desperation in the world of someone who didn’t know if they had anything left to lose after this.

But Stiles merely shook his head, and his free hand was slowly coming up now, and every eye tracked that hand. Although his whole body trembled, his fingers stroking her jaw were remarkably steady. “You…” he murmured, eyes at half-mast.

“No,” Lydia keened, covering his hand with hers and rocking forward. “No.”

But all he did was smile. Gently, as if this were any other day, like countless other times when he’d smiled at her like that; like her eyes were the only thing that anchored him, like she was everything to him, like he wanted to make blueberry waffles and his mother’s lasagna for her every day for the rest of his life- like he adored her and loved her and respected her beyond words.

Lydia knew that he did.

His lips parted as he tried to speak again, even as the other Lydia shook her head. “You…” Quite suddenly his red irises faded- no, _faded_ was always the wrong word to describe it, because that beautiful gold colour was the furthest thing from dull-

and he took a very deep, very loud breath that rattled in his chest and dragged down his throat and shook in his lungs before he spoke, near inaudibly in a gasp that took all the air that was left in him so that at the end his voice was nearly nothing:

“you look _so_ beautiful when you cry.”

There was no breath after that at all.

Lydia felt _it_ splashing up in her chest and was unable to process anything, was barely registering it as his hand slipped off the other Lydia’s cheek and thudded back onto his chest, because all she could do was scream, a scream that joined the other banshee’s, intertwining in a terrible harmony.

The others bowed into the scream, not bothering to cover their ears or cringe at the pain, but rather choosing to take it as it was. It seemed to go on forever and yet no time at all- it was hard to tell, but at the end of it there were tears tracking down her cheeks as well.

And when they were done, when Lydia had managed to empty it from her chest, the other Lydia only took one breath before turning her head back to the endless sky above to scream again.

But it wasn’t a banshee scream this time- yet, it was still a haunting cry of sadness, of despair. It was the universal song of grief, echoing unimaginable pain, and it rang through Lydia’s ears and rattled them all to the core more than a banshee ever could.

Lydia crept closer, feeling oddly numb. He looked- he looked all _wrong_ in death, far too still, far too graceful, and those golden eyes she’d always admired?-glassy, dull. _Faded_.

What followed that last scream was more than silence. Lydia heard a distinct rumbling beneath them. The ground was shaking.

And the world began to flicker. Except, this time, it didn’t stop.

The ground continued to vibrate, the violence of it nearly making Lydia lose her balance. The other Lydia was too transfixed on her dead fiancé. The alpha was dead.

Which meant… Lydia turned and saw the witch’s lifeless body, still sprawled on the floor, blue eyes unseeing. Morgan, the wekufe, and the alpha Stiles- in the end, their fates had all been intertwined.

But there was more than that to think about right now.

So Scott, always the natural leader, turned his face up and was the first to voice the real problem. “We have to get out of here!” he yelled.

Scott was immeasurably strong, she thought with a sense of detachment. She could see the pain in the wetness of his eyes, the pull of his brows, the tightened corners of his mouth. But he was never one to allow himself to grieve when others were in need.

“How?” Liam shouted. “Where do we even go?”

As if in answer to their prayers, the door behind them suddenly swung open, one of the many doors in their line of sight. Everyone jumped at the sound of squeaky door hinges before peering curiously into the doorway.

Beyond that door was simple white, blinding light. The group squinted into it, barely able to keep their eyes on it for more than a few moments.

“Think that’s the way out?” Allison asked quietly.

Scott stood. “It has to be.” Because there was nothing else left to try. He nodded at something behind Lydia. “And I think that’s _your_ ticket out.”

She turned around. That door in the center of the room that she’d noted when they’d first arrived was open too.

Scott nodded at his pack. “Go!”

That was all they needed- the tears had hardly dried on their cheeks but they were springing into action again. The pack began to take off into the door, first Liam, then Cora, then Kira and Malia and the rest until the only ones left were the two Lydia’s, Allison, Scott, the unconscious Stiles the witch and, well…

The other Lydia was the only one kneeling now by Stiles’ body, and when Allison gently tugged at her arm, she wrenched it away with a choked sob. “I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t leave him.”

“Lydia,” Allison scolded, voice becoming hard and Lydia knew exactly why. Now wasn’t the time to coddle; their lives were all in danger. No one wanted to stick around to see what would happen to them in a disintegrating plane of nonexistence. “He would want you to.”

The other Lydia cradled her fiancé’s head to her chest as if she could somehow imbue life back into his soul. “No, he wouldn’t. I promised,” she said, and her voice took on a mechanical edge, one with purpose. “I promised I would get him out of here.”

Allison and Scott exchanged looks, but before they could move, Lydia finally made her legs move to stand next to her other universe counterpart. She kneeled beside the other banshee, slipping Stiles’ one arm around her neck. Catching on, the other Lydia did the same with his other arm, and together, they hauled his body up. His head lolled forward on his shoulders. It was an ungainly mess of a way to transport a him, not ideal, less than dignified- but Lydia thought rather darkly that it suited him.

Scott and Allison quickly came forward to help, and Lydia let them take over. She was about to step back when the other banshee seized her sleeve.

Lydia met her hard gaze, green connecting with green.

“I don’t know you,” the other banshee said firmly, and Lydia almost laughed at that, because they were quite literally the same person. “But if you love him even as half as much as I do, then I have advice for you.”

Lydia tried to cut her off, aware of Scott and Allison listening. “I know-”

“Stop being afraid,” her alternate self cut her off, voice trembling slightly. “Stop letting your past control you. Let him in. Let yourself be happy before it’s too late.”

Lydia couldn’t speak. God, she wanted that, didn’t she? She wanted that so badly. She wanted what the woman in front of her, her mirror image had.

(Then again, mirrors reflected the opposite image.)

Just then, a violent tremor nearly threw all of them on the floor, but they managed to stumble back upright.

“Go!” Scott roared as he supported Stiles’ weight almost entirely by himself. “Allison, go!”

“I’m not leaving without you,” she cried.

“I’m right behind you,” he reassured, and she bit her lip and he nodded encouragingly and then Allison was turning too, with little fanfare, but before her face disappeared into the blinding light, she turned slightly and her bright, lively brown eyes connected with Lydia’s for a brief moment.

Then Allison was gone. But Lydia remembered.

(She always would.)

“Wait,” Lydia cried.

Scott looked pained. “Lydia, we don’t have time-”

Lydia reached towards her alternate self and reached into her pocket- the banshee stood still, not reacting- and extracted the now crumpled piece of paper- Allison’s letter.

How wonderful would it be if she could bring her actual, written words back to him?

“I need this,” she said by way of explanation, clutching it tightly in her fist.

Her other self didn’t say anything, and Scott repeated, “Lydia,” he was directing it to her, not the other- “Go, take your Stiles, _go_.”

Lydia glanced behind her, where Stiles was finally stirring and then back, where the other Lydia’s eyes were suddenly trained on his form, something like yearning in her expression.

There was no time for grand farewells. She turned around and ran from them, ran to the center of the room to where the wretched door and her Stiles, her alive, her breathing, her wonderful best friend, her partner in crime, her _everything_ was opening his golden eyes blearily.

“Lydia, what-”

She could have cried at the sound of his voice, but now wasn’t the time. “Stiles, we have to go.”

“Go,” he echoed. “Right, we go, now.” With her help, he pulled himself upright, and then caught sight of what was behind her.

His eyes widening in shock told Lydia he had just registered his own dead body in Scott’s and Lydia’s hands. “Lydia-”

She cut him off. “Let’s go.”

He fell silent immediately, recognizing the urgency of the situation, and took her hand as if it were second nature to him, which it _was_ , she knew that-

She gave one last look to Morgan’s body, wondering briefly if she should have made an effort to bring her back too.

But no, she decided instantly. This wasn’t her - Morgan Lefebvre, a chemistry teacher and a wife and a friend- had been dead for a long time. What they were leaving here was probably best left off not existing.

Stiles and Lydia both glanced back at the disappearing figures of themselves and Scott and then finally back at each other, gazes colliding as they stepped, hand-in-hand, into the blinding light of the doorway

and into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sad... but sometimes a death is necessary, unavoidable even, to the story, and that was the case here. It was planned since the very beginning - Doesn't mean it hurts any less.
> 
> (If it's any consolation, there were far more angsty and sad versions of this that I scrapped- and also, I like to remember that there is a universe, many actually, where those two are both alive and happy and would get married and live happily ever after. Just... not 237's.)  
> PS- things get hopeful from here. :)
> 
> *twiddles thumbs and waits for the mob to come to my door*


	18. how rare and beautiful it is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Death doesn’t happen to you, Lydia. It happens to everyone around you. Okay? It happens to all the people left standing around at your funeral trying to figure out how they’re going to live the rest of their lives now without you in it."
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Aftermath.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this entire chapter while listening to that song "Sleeping at Last- Saturn". As you can probably tell by the title.

They woke up together in the darkness, bloodied, gasping as if they’d just broken the surface of the ocean.

(Maybe they had.)

“ _Lydia_?” She couldn’t see a thing, but she could feel his large hands on her, everywhere, finally find her face, and her eyes slowly began to adjust; she was clinging to him, and they were nestled together slumped against the roots and the trunk of the Nemeton, surrounded by forest. Her hand automatically went to her pocket, feeling for the letter she knew was there, before relaxing at her side. Meanwhile, Stiles leaned forward, his eyes almost illuminated in the darkness.

“Stiles,” she returned, voice haggard.

He smiled at the sound of her voice, and it was achingly similar to the one she’d seen on the other Stiles’ face before he uttered his last words and left them.

She couldn’t help the sob that escaped her mouth. His eyebrows immediately pulled together with alarm. “Lydia- we made it, we’re alive, we’re okay-“

She cut him off with a tight hug, because yes, that was true, but it wasn’t true for all of them-

He inhaled sharply at the strength of her hug, and she pulled back, alarmed to see a dark wetness staining the side of his shirt.

“You’re hurt,” she exclaimed reaching forward to press gently at his side, trying to find the wounded area under all the blood.

His laugh was a little forced. “Yeah… I passed out for a reason, you know.” And then he was making a sound of surprise. “ _You’re_ hurt!”

She barely managed to get out, “No I’m-” before his hands made contact with her leg and she hissed in pain, looking down at the stab wound on her upper leg. She hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even felt it.

He was pressing at her leg and she was pressing at his side, and suddenly she realized the ridiculousness of it all; they were both seriously injured and they were still devoting all their focus to each other. She snorted a laugh and he looked up with surprise. She clapped a hand over her mouth, belatedly realizing it had been a little stained with Stiles’ blood, and laughed again.

He laughed too, eyes crinkling up and dimples showing in his cheeks, “Look at us,” she giggled, and that set them off-  they were laughing without any restraint, almost hysterically they were laughing like it was natural as breathing and then somehow they ended up crying, crying into each others shoulders, then crying with their foreheads pressed together, close enough to kiss but never touching lips because then they wouldn’t be able to look into each others’ eyes and reassure themselves they were both alive.

That was how Scott found them, crying and laughing mixed into one, and he slowly stepped over thick wild roots, saying happily, “I found you,” and neither Lydia nor Stiles said anything when he reached them, but Lydia had enough presence of mind to tug that letter from the pocket of her jean-shorts and hand it to him without a word.

Scott took it hesitantly, sitting slowly next to Lydia, and his expression showed absolute bewilderment until he unfolded it and instantly- _instantly_ , his face changed to something like rapture as he began to read.

And after a few minutes they were all three of them crying and laughing under that goddamn tree. But Lydia, burrowed between Stiles and Scott, two of the people she loved most in this world, had no idea if it was happiness or sadness or a little bit of both but she thought to herself that it was probably neither. She thought, as the sun began to peek over the horizon and began to filter through the thick trees and slowly cast over their wet cheeks, that they were crying because it was finally over.

And in the end, it wasn’t just Scott, Lydia and Stiles. It felt (to Lydia, anyway) that Allison was with them too, smiling down from the heavens.

* * *

 

After a while, they’d hiccoughed themselves back to silence; and Scott broke the silence.

“It’s really you, then.”

Lydia knew what he meant, finding the strength to turn her head and nod. His eyes shone, and he looked over at Stiles. “And it’s really you?”

Stiles coughed, sarcasm apparently escaping him for the moment. “It’s me.”

Scott grinned, and his eyes shone with tears- happy tears, and then he was crouching in front of them both and enveloping them in a (gentle, because of their injuries) hug.

Before any other words could be spoken, there was crashing noises, crunching through the leaves distantly, and then Malia had appeared at the edge of the clearing, hand grabbing onto the branch of the tree beside her and taking in the scene before turning her head and yelling behind her, “I found them!”

Lydia and Stiles were helped out and Lydia was hardly aware of anything; and suddenly she was in Scott’s old bed at the McCall house that he’d grown up in and replaying the last 24 hours in her head because she still wasn’t even sure it was real.

She’d already been stitched and bandaged up by Scott’s mother. The door opened and she looked up blearily, expecting her checking up- but it was Scott.

She sat up immediately. “Scott-”

He waved her down immediately as he sat down on the stool next to the bed, firmly saying, “Rest, Lydia-”

“Stiles- is he-”

“Stiles will be fine,” Scott replied, and she knew he definitely noted the way she finally sagged into the pillows, not bothering to hide the wetness in her eyes. “He’s in Isaac’s old room. Lydia,” his voice was a bit hesitant now, “what… what happened out there?”

She didn’t reply for a long time, so long that she was certain Scott had already given up and was just sitting with her in comfort. Finally: “I’d like to talk about it later, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Scott quickly replied, and then his hand reached out- hesitating not once but twice on its way to her hand. “Just- could you tell me, is she- is _she_ -?”

“Allison is fine,” Lydia replied.

He released a breath. “Mr. Argent will be happy to hear that.” His voice was remarkably steady.

“Yeah,” Lydia agreed. “She sends her love. To both of you.” She nodded at the folded note peeking out of his jeans pocket. “But you already know that, don’t you.”

He nodded fast, and he seemed to abandon pretense finally, barely able to get the words out as clogged with emotion as his voice was. “I- Lydia, thank you. Thank you so much.” His hand came up to wipe at his face.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Lydia cut him off with a small smile. “It was her idea, anyway.”

His hand gripped hers tightly. “Still. You brought it to me. So thank you.” He swallowed a few times before continuing in a quiet, beseeching voice. “Is it weird that I feel- like, I feel some kind of closure now?”

She heard the pleading in his words, because she knew- deep down- that Scott had never been able to truly move on from Allison’s death. “Absolutely not,” she replied, and then dammit, she was crying again, she could feel the coolness sliding down her cheeks. “Because I do too.”

And Scott got off his stool to sit on the bed with her and hug her properly, and she hugged him tightly back. It was funny how that worked out, Lydia thought tearfully into Scott’s shoulder- how the two of them that Allison had left behind so many years ago had to try and fit all the pieces of their lives back together by themselves. And how, by some miracle, Allison had come back, as brief as it had been, to help them do it.

* * *

 

Stiles woke up to find Scott at his bedside, dozing off.

“I can’t believe you put me in Isaac’s old room, you traitor,” Stiles commented, his voice sounding rough and scratchy even to him. Scott’s head jerked up immediately, eyes widening comically before he grinned lopsidedly.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but.

Stiles shifted in his position on the bed, sitting up and feeling a little floaty. Mrs. McCall had done a good job on his ribs, but it seemed like she’d fed him a hell of a lot of painkillers too. And he knew there was a ridiculously sized bump swelling on his forehead although luckily he’d been deemed concussion-free.

“So,” Scott said.

“So,” Stiles echoed.

“Do you want to talk?”

He thought about what had happened back there- or had it? Had he imagined it? He’d thought it was a weird hallucination while he was unconscious, at least until he’d seen the other Stiles dead. And then his only thought had been, _that could have been me_. He hadn’t known who’s body they were in. He thought he was dead and he was okay with that in the last few moments. It was a strange thought, now. “Not really.” And yet the words came out of his mouth unbidden. “Dude- I died. For real.”

“What?”

“Not me,” he quickly corrected. “The… the other me. The alpha werewolf me. He’s dead. We- he died.” He kept it quick and short, not wanting to disclose that it could have easily been him- that it _had_ been him.

Because he hadn’t paid the price, had he?

Scott’s expression was shocked and then all at once saddened. For Stiles himself, the information- seeing his own dead body- was oddly not very disturbing at all. There was probably something wrong with him, but that wasn’t news.

“So that’s why,” Scott finally murmured.

“Why what?”

Scott glanced at him briefly. “Why Lydia looked so shaken up.”

Stiles shrugged. “That could have been because of Allison, man.”

Scott eyed him. “I doubt that was all.”

Stiles decided not to pursue it. Scott spoke again, out of the blue.

“She gave me a letter, you know.”

Stiles eyed him in confusion, and Scott reached into his pocket and pulled it out- a little square of paper, and although Stiles didn’t reach for it, he could see Allison’s distinctive script; he recognized it instantly (he’d been the messenger for a lot of notes between those two in high school). He swallowed a few times, thinking, seeing the emotion in Scott’s eyes and wondering if it would be good to say or not. “Oh,” he managed finally. Scott didn’t say anything, but suddenly, Stiles felt wrong for keeping it a secret. Scott had a right to _know_.

So cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Man you ought to know- Allison, she and you, you guys were-”

Scott interrupted. “I know we were married.”

Stiles looked at him, shocked.

“The other Stiles told me,” Scott said by way of explanation, expression not changing from its neutral expression.

Stiles sunk lower into his pillows, snorting. “What an insensitive dick.”

Scott’s lips twitched. “And it’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, searching his friend’s face, but from what he could see, Scott wasn’t hiding any internal angst over it.

“Yeah,” Scott said, and then hesitated, and then a lot of words poured from his mouth in a rather uncharacteristic rush of feeling. “I’m glad that happened between us, you know. But, there’s no telling what would have happened if she was alive here. Scott from the other place was human, wasn’t he?” Stiles nodded. “And the biggest reason Allison and I didn’t work out here was because I was a werewolf, and all the crap that came with it.  And maybe, because of what I am, she never would have wanted that with me. I don’t know. I don’t want to dwell on it anymore.” His eyes flickered down to the piece of paper clutched in his hand. “I don’t care if we would have been married, with three kids and a little dog, if she were still alive. I would have been _happy_ if she were just alive,” he said softly. “Except she’s not. But…” he smiled down at the ground. “She does still want me to be happy.”

Stiles reached out a hand to rub Scott’s back, full of pride and relief. “Of course she does, man.”

“And it’s not your fault,” Scott added. Stiles looked up in surprise but Scott continued. “I know the future we could have had, but you’re still not the person to blame. You know that, right?”

Scott’s brown eyes were earnest and full of emotion and Stiles could only swallow when he met his gaze. “Yeah, man,” he managed to get out. “I know that.” But it was at that moment that he felt the weight lift from his shoulders, hearing it finally from three of the most important people in his life- Lydia, Allison and finally Scott. And their opinions were really the only ones that mattered.

The peace in his soul was strange, foreign to him, and he couldn’t help but look down at his hands- such an old habit, counting his fingers, and yet, he couldn’t quite shake it.

Scott caught on immediately, catching his fingers in his gently. “Hey. You just jumped between two different universes, saw alternate versions of the pack, became an alpha werewolf for a few days, and you’re questioning if _this_ is real?”

Stiles snorted a laugh, because damn, he was right. “Good point.”

* * *

 

 

 

 

**UNIVERSE 237- (3 DAYS LATER)**

When Allison and Scott had first bought their house a few years ago, they’d gone a bit crazy buying all the cutesy things they could afford. Allison bought every novelty set of cutlery she could find; Scott painted the fence white. The others had teased them for their sentimentality and for being cliché but the two of them had never cared.

One of the things they’d bought when they first moved in was a set of four white mugs, in a little box set that had everything in fours. Allison had gotten a kick out of the fact that each mug had “The Wolfpack” written on it from some old movie she distantly remembered.

Those four mugs were used often; they became a hit and were generally well-loved. And somehow, each of them knew who’s mug was which even though they might seem identical to the lay person’s eye- they knew how to recognize the chips and the scratches in the mug that they each used.

Presently, Allison blinked away tears as she poured steaming hot tea into three of those white mugs.

She’d left the fourth one in the cupboard.

She set them on a tray and took it to the living room, where she paused in the doorway.

Scott and Lydia were curled besides each other on the couch, looking exhausted and with their eyes closed. Lydia’s head was on Scott’s shoulder, cheeks tearstained. Allison knew they were both awake, though. She briefly considered not disturbing them with the tea- the rest of the pack had only just left, it was two in the morning- but… it looked like they needed it. She needed it, too.

So she walked into the room, proud of her only slightly trembling hands rattling the cups only just a little bit, and set the tray on the coffee table, perching on the seat next to Scott and reaching for her own cup.

Scott spoke. “You didn’t have to make tea.” His eyes were still closed, voice hollow-sounding.

Allison drummed her fingers against the cup. She knew that. She also hated feeling useless. “It was something to do,” she replied quietly, knowing he would understand.

Because there wasn’t anything she could do about what had happened. There was nothing any of them could do.

Scott opened his eyes, soft brown connecting with hers, a moment of wretched understanding passing between them before he leaned forward to pick out his own mug from the tray. The sudden movement disturbed Lydia, who lifted her head and blinked a few times sluggishly. Scott picked up her mug, too, and offered it to her.

She stared at it for a long several moments before finally reaching out slowly with both hands to take it.

They sipped their scalding hot tea in unison.

(They were so numb that they just wanted to _feel_ something.)

They didn’t talk.

There wasn’t much to talk about. They didn’t talk about the last three days. They didn’t talk about how Scott found Allison retching in the bathroom the morning after. They didn’t talk about how Allison found Scott sleeping curled up in the Jeep yesterday. They didn’t talk about how Scott found Lydia wandering barefoot around the woods last night with a flannel shirt clutched in her hand, muttering archaic Latin under her breath in some last-ditch attempt before the funeral.

No, they didn’t talk about the desperate things that had been done under slivered moons and with shaky hands and old spellbooks, and how every single one of them had failed. They didn’t talk about how _he_ never woke up. They didn’t talk about how maybe despite their best efforts, they had left him behind after all.

And when someone _did_ talk, it wasn’t about any of those things.

“What now?” Scott said suddenly into the miserable silence, and his voice was near business-like.

The two woman stared at him. “Scott,” Allison said, almost angrily, because why did he have to do this, why did he have to keep going when it was _clearly okay to take a breath_ \- “we sleep. We rest.”

Lydia spoke up into her mug of tea. “For a long time.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft-edged, her thumb rubbing distractedly over her own engagement ring, and Allison felt such a powerful pang of _pain_ over what could have been.

He’d given up his life for Allison’s, that much was clear. She didn’t know how to feel about that except angry.

But that wasn’t the right emotion, was it- So instead, she felt nothing.

Scott continued on, eyes despondent. “This is important, though. We’re a pack with no alpha.”

Allison sighed and she felt Lydia did too. He’d said it out loud, they were all thinking it but no one had mentioned him in any real, _direct_ capacity for hours- it had been hours since the funeral. (Another thing Allison didn’t want to think about.)

“We need an alpha,” Scott said weakly into the reluctant silence. “What’s a pack with no alpha? What are we without him?” He swallowed a few times, voice breaking over his next words. “What are we without Stiles?”

Lydia let out a single, uncontrolled sob at the name before clasping her own hand over her mouth and falling silent, eyes screwed shut tightly through tears.

Allison controlled her own reaction, although the name brought a swooping, emptying sensation in her gut. “We’re the pack,” she said firmly, because she knew Scott wouldn’t rest until he knew the answer to this question. It wasn’t just a matter of losing someone very dear to all of them. It was a matter of identity that the pack would drift apart without.

“But there’s no alpha,” Scott insisted.

Allison set down her mug momentarily. “Maybe there’s no alpha werewolf. But there _is_ a leader,” she replied, placing her hand gently overtop of his where it rested on his knee, their wedding rings clinking together at the contact. “You.”

He scoffed into his tea, lips trembling. “I’m not a werewolf.” _I’m not him_.

“You don’t have to be,” Allison said fiercely. “You don’t have to be a werewolf to be strong and brave and be able to lead people, and you’ve always been _that_.” When he said nothing, she added, “We’ve never been a traditional pack, Scott, and we’re not about to start now.”

Scott was silent, contemplating those words, before turning to Lydia. “What do _you_ think?” he asked, and Allison paid attention too, because yes, it was necessary to get the approval of Lydia in this matter.

It was a long time before she spoke. “I think you’ve been a leader since the start, Scott McCall,” Lydia whispered. “I think it’s part of who you are.” She took a deep, shaky breath before adding, “And I know that’s what he thought, too, that you were better suited to leading than he was. He’d want this.”

They all three of them nodded at that; and the matter was settled.

It was a small thing, but it provided a little stability for them to have the knowledge that no, this wasn’t the end- their world hadn’t stopped with Stiles no matter how much it felt like it. Life would go on. But Allison knew, as they all downed the tea in unison as if in silent, unspoken toast, that there was a long road ahead of them.

And she thought back to that fourth mug sitting alone in the kitchen cupboard, and mused that, maybe- her hand drifted absentmindedly to her stomach- it could be of use again, one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on the Universe 237 story folks. Here's something I couldn't fit in but that I headcanon anyway: When she's born, Scott/Allison name their daughter Claudia in honour of Stiles and what was always most important to him- family, in all senses of the word.
> 
> Leave a comment to make my day. The last 2 chaps of this story are pure stydia, so I hope you'll enjoy that. ;)


	19. the sun came out

“She looks nervous. Is she nervous?”

Scott glanced at Stiles as they both settled into seats at the back of the lecture theatre. It’d been three weeks.

Well, four weeks since Lydia had jumped to another universe. Three and a half weeks since Stiles followed her. And three weeks since they both came back, clinging to each other, and three weeks since Scott had felt the most peace he’d felt in years. And three weeks since Scott had taken to carrying a well creased, folded piece of notebook paper in his wallet at all times.

Scott craned his neck to look over the heads of the committee members who were sitting near front. Lydia was looking professional and composed as usual, her hair piled into a bun at the top of her head with not a single flyaway, red lipstick impeccable, white blouse neatly tucked into a grey pencil skirt. Her eyes had a faraway look in them, presumably her way of preparing for her presentation in a few minutes. “ _You_ look more nervous than she does, to be honest,” Scott replied finally with a slight smile, watching as Stiles immediately stopped fidgeting.

“She’s going to do great,” Kira said confidently from his other side, reaching to grab his hand and squeeze it. He turned his head to peck her on the lips softly, and they both blushed because they’d been dating on and off for years but apparently neither would get over it.

(Scott was perfectly fine with that.)

“She doesn’t seem nervous,” Scott added, “She’s been getting ready for this like crazy ever since you two got back.” When Stiles didn’t respond, Scott’s eyebrows raised as something occurred to him. “You _have_ talked to Lydia in the last three weeks?”

He didn’t answer right away. “She’s been busy,” he finally mumbled, leaning back in his seat and tugging at his collar.

Scott eyed him for another moment but ultimately decided to drop it. “She’ll be fine, man.”

“I know that,” Stiles retorted immediately, eyes still on her at the front of the room. Over the years, Stiles had changed so much but one thing that hadn’t changed over the many trials and tribulations they had gone through was the way he looked at Lydia. Scott wasn’t sure that would ever change. “But I don’t like these dudes with the clipboards. That one on the left with the beard looks plain _evil_.”

Kira tapped Scott on the arm. “She’s looking this way!”

All three of them craned their necks again, and sure enough, Lydia’s eyes were on them. Scott and Kira grinned and waved at her, and her expression didn’t change but her eyes warmed. Then her gaze shifted to Stiles and her expression shifted, too.

It wasn’t a negative change, exactly. Just different. Heavier. It lingered. And then it kept going, her gaze sweeping across the room. Scott glanced at his best friend just in time to see a faint flush disappearing from the skin above his collar. He was still following Lydia’s gaze, as if willing her to look back at him. Instead, her eyes fell on someone else in the crowd there for Lydia’s thesis defense.

Parrish, lounging in a seat near the front, gave her a small wave, a smile quirking up on his face. Lydia’s mouth ticked up too.

Stiles’ eyes darted between them. Scott, with a sinking feeling, could feel the exact moment when Stiles made the connection. His lips parted slowly, and he sunk lower in his seat. Scott decided at this moment that his time pretending to be a bystander had to be over.

Speaking too quietly for Kira to hear, he leaned in and said, “You know, they’re not-”

Stiles’ voice was flat when he cut him off. “It’s none of my business.”

“Stiles-”

Stiles looked at him and attempted something at a smile, but it looked rather strained. “Seriously, dude, stop. It’s never mattered and it still doesn’t.”

Except, Scott thought as he continued to observe Stiles through the side of his peripheral vision as the presentation got underway, it _did_. This time, it mattered even more than usual. Why?

Eventually he tuned back into the presentation, and the three of them watched as Lydia gave an effortless presentation of her research with a confident voice and not a single cue card in sight; and then afterwards fielded tough questions from the professors on the committee like it was child’s play. Scott had to admire the way she seemed to be able to turn the questions around on them, making them play right into her hands, and half of them were left gawking, pens dangling from their fingers. Scott couldn’t help the swelling of pride in his chest because he knew she was absolutely blowing them away.

And then, it was over. It was announced that there would be some light refreshments to be enjoyed in the hallway outside, and people were standing up, and a few came down from the seats to speak to Lydia one-on-one. Everyone else trickled outside.

“That was amazing,” Kira voiced his own thoughts as they helped themselves to coffee. “There’s no way she’s not going to get that degree.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “No idea what she was saying, though.” He grinned at her.

She laughed. “Me neither. I don’t know that anyone can keep up with her.”

Well, Scott thought, he could think of one. Throughout the lecture, Stiles had been nodding along, even mouthing a few words before Lydia would actually say them out loud. Even if he wasn’t quite on her level, he was definitely the closest of all of them.

He turned to say as much to Stiles, but he was nowhere to be seen. He frowned; he dimly remembered Stiles excusing himself to the washroom, but he hadn’t come back.

“Maybe he ran into Lydia and they’re talking,” Kira said almost hopefully, knowing what he was thinking.

“Maybe,” Scott echoed, unconvinced. A suspicion was nagging at him. He set his coffee down on the table he’d picked it up from. “I’ll be right back.” He felt her worried gaze on his back all the way out the front doors of the university.

He half walked, half ran to the near-empty parking lot where the Jeep was parked, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw Stiles opening the door of the driver’s side.

“Stiles!” he yelled, jogging towards him.

Stiles’ back stiffened but he didn’t turn around, just ducked into the driver’s seat. Scott reached him at the same time that he tried to close the door, putting out a hand to stop the door from closing. Stiles continued to tug, fruitlessly. Scott took his time speaking.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Let go.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re just leaving!”

“Because the presentation’s over. And she did great.” His voice was level.

“There’s still the reception,” Scott said, gentler now as Stiles finally stopped trying to close the Jeep door, instead resting his hands on the wheel. “Come back inside. She wants to see you.”

That seemed to hit a nerve. “Does she?” Stiles bit out sourly. “Did she say so?”

Scott blinked. “Well, no, but I haven’t talked to her yet.” Stiles snorted loudly and Scott finally said what he’d been thinking for the past three weeks. “Stiles… did something happen with you two when you were gone?”

His spine stiffened immediately, and Scott knew he’d hit jackpot.

“No,” Stiles replied, and his heartbeat didn’t jump, his voice was calm, but no matter how much he had learned on how to keep his vitals steady, Scott could tell he was lying right then. He seized the opportunity.

“Something _did_ happen, didn’t it?” Stiles said nothing, but his grip on the Jeep door was white-knuckled all of a sudden.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles repeated, staring with intense concentration at the steering wheel like it held the secrets to the universe. “She’s with Parrish.”

“She’s not _really_ -”

“Stop trying to make me feel better, Scott.” He finally sounded angry, fed up even. “You know what I mean. Just say it-I’m delusional, I’ve always been fucking delusional. Ten year plan? What a joke.”

“You’re n-”

Stiles slammed the wheel with his hand in frustration, nearly yelling, “I’m not a werewolf anymore, okay, Scott? I’m just _human_.”

Scott blinked at those words, trying to sort out what they were supposed to mean. “Stiles… where is this coming from?”

He was silent for a long moment. Then: “She liked me there, Scott,” he finally muttered, eyes downcast. “She liked me when I was a werewolf, I… I could tell. But she doesn’t _like_ me here.”

Scott knew what Stiles meant when he said ‘like’. It was funny how when Stiles had liked Lydia he had so liberally used the word ‘love’ and when the years went on and his love for her just compounded, he started saying ‘like’. Maybe he was afraid of that now. Scott could certainly understand; but he didn’t know what Stiles was trying to say here. “Are you saying you want to be a werewolf?” he asked carefully.

Stiles’ fidgeting hands stilled. The fact that there was no instinctive denial surprised Scott.

Stiles had expressed more than once his feeling of incompetence compared to the rest of the group but Scott hadn’t known it had extended quite this far. He took a step forward. “You know, if you wanted the bite, all you ever had to do was ask,” he said softly, and although any other time that might be true, right now it was a bluff. He wasn’t going to give his friend the bite just because he was disillusioned that the girl he loved would only love a werewolf back.

Stiles stared at the wheel for a good minute before finally uttering the word that made Scott exhale in relief. “No,” he said simply, quietly. “No, I don’t want that.”

 _I wouldn’t either_ , thought Scott.

But Stiles wasn’t done. “I just don’t want to go back in, okay?” He shoved his key into the ignition with one shaking hand, and the Jeep roared to life.

“Stiles, she’s expecting both of us to be there,” Scott tried. “We came here to support her. Celebrate with her. And you’re just going to leave?”

There was a long pause, his words hanging in the air, before Stiles spoke again.

“Scott.” His fingers clenched on the wheel, shoulders bunching up. His head was turned slightly away so Scott couldn’t see his expression, and his voice was _just_ steady enough to be convincing.

But Scott knew his best friend well enough to know when he was trying not to cry.

“You know I love her but I don’t want to see her right now, okay? I literally _can’t_.” Stiles’ voice wavered, nearly to the point of breaking, before strengthening back to his normal tone of voice. “Tell her she did a great job from me and I’ll… see her later.” And then he reached out an arm to close the Jeep door. This time, Scott stood back and let him.

Stiles didn’t look his way as the Jeep peeled out of the parking lot. Scott watched him go, thinking hard. No, he decided, he was done playing the bystander. He was done standing by while his best friend got hurt over and over again for _no reason at all_.

It was time to talk to Lydia.

* * *

 

“Is there any particular reason you’re telling me this right now?” Parrish asked slowly. Lydia looked to the lights in the ceiling of the now otherwise empty lecture theatre (everyone else were in the refreshments area), praying for some ethereal being to grant her a bit of patience.

Lydia sighed, taking a deep breath to face Parrish again. The deputy had his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, an inscrutable expression on his face. She admitted to herself the decision had been a little spontaneous, made in the instant her eyes had locked with Stiles’ intense gaze and she felt a little bolt of- _something-_ zing through her chest. And suddenly, she’d made the call. Right there and then, that she didn’t want to be doing anything with Parrish anymore.

“Only because I’m done with it,” Lydia answered bluntly. “Honestly, I don’t know what you considered us to be, but I wanted to make it clear right now that we aren’t _anything_. At all. Starting now.”

He seemed to take her slightly harsh words considerably well. After a moment of contemplation, he finally spoke, tone neutral. “Does this have something to do with Stiles?”

Lydia blinked, unprepared for the accusation.

When she didn’t reply, a small smile crossed his face as he looked down at his feet. “It was a long time coming.”

Lydia cut him off before he could get any more ideas. “This has nothing to do with Stiles or anyone else. It only has to do with me. I’m simply telling you that I will always appreciate your friendship but our other, informal _arrangement_ is now over,” she replied stiffly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Parrish examined her expression before responding. “Alright, Lydia. But…” he shrugged, “I’ve seen how you two look at each other. I’m never going to compete with that; not going to try, wouldn’t be able to.”

“You don’t know anything,” Lydia said, affronted, because was she seriously this obvious? She’d always prided herself at keeping her emotions reined in nicely, but apparently Parrish could see through it better than she thought.

Parrish plowed on. “I’ve seen and worked with two different versions of yourself, Lydia. You’re the same as the other Lydia and the only difference is that she’s with Stiles. You’re…” He half laughed, shaking his head at the ground, “meant for each other, I guess.”

Lydia bristled at that. “That’s ridiculous!” How dare he insinuate her future was pre-ordained? “You know I don’t make decisions based on that kind of thing. I’m not going to live under ‘maybe’s’!” She stabbed a finger at him. “Do you even know how hard I have worked, every _single_ day of my life, to make myself into the person _I_ wanted to be –”

“Then maybe you should stop fighting against that person,” Parrish said, sounding tired and turning towards the door.

Lydia’s glare followed him to the door, rooted to her own spot in the middle of the stage.

Before he let the door close behind him, he tossed over his shoulder, “Because I know you, Lydia. You go after what you want. Except for some reason, you never went after him…”

She stood in the middle of the room, turning over his words for a moment before shaking herself. What was she doing, standing here and thinking about men? She should be celebrating. She had passed with flying colours, she knew it from the collectively dazed look in the committee’s eyes. She should be out there.

Stiles was out there.

The thought made her gulp for some reason, but her heels were taking her outside before she could hesitate.

She was immediately accosted by audience members, a few committee members. Her perfectly practiced smile fell back in place, but it was more genuine than usual because yes, she’d done it and yes, she knew it.

Eventually the crowd began to thin- a rather larger than usual crowd had come to see Lydia Martin’s thesis defense- and she could spot Scott and Kira on the edge, leaning against the wall with matching smiles on their faces. She beamed and approached them, slowing a little when she realized Stiles wasn’t with them. A little surprising and if she was being honest, a little disappointing.

Maybe Scott saw that, because when she reached them, he said, “Stiles had to run. He said to tell you that you did a great job.” His voice was neutral, but that was exactly what threw Lydia off. She frowned, but before she could examine it further, Kira piped up.

“Yeah, congratulations,” she said happily, leaning in to hug Lydia, an embrace that she gladly accepted. “But I gotta run, too.” She glanced between them, looking apologetic, and added, “We’re going to throw you a huge party later, you know that, right?”

Lydia held back another grin. “Thanks for coming,” she replied instead, and Kira nodded and was gone too. Leaving Scott and Lydia.

She was just about to say something to him about how they should go, too, seeing as nearly everyone had left, and the food services staff had arrived to clean up the refreshments table, but he spoke.

“Can I talk to you, Lydia?” His voice was serious.

She looked at him with surprise; his expression was beseeching. “Of course,” she said slowly.

He took her elbow and began to walk her out of the building. “Look, I know this isn’t the best time for this kind of thing,” he said regretfully, “And normally I would let it wait. But I’m done waiting for this.”

She was really curious, now. “Are you about to declare your love for me, Scott?” She raised her eyebrows teasingly.

“Not exactly,” he replied, the twinkle in his eye fading almost immediately after he said it. “It’s about Stiles.”

Her heart leapt, and there was a hiccup in her steps before she smoothly corrected it. She knew he noticed both.

He didn’t mention it, though. “You’ve got to make up your mind, Lydia.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I-”

“You’re hurting him, Lydia!” he exclaimed, and as if in agreement they stopped walking, in the middle of the now abandoned parking lot with only Scott and Lydia’s vehicles parked. “You’re hurting him.” He breathed through his nose a few times before speaking quieter now. “Look, I know that you have a problem getting close to people, and seeing the other Stiles die probably didn’t help with that,” she flinched, “but you can’t let that stop you!”

Funnily enough, she thought, that _wasn’t_ what held her back. In fact, that had almost had the opposite effect.

“I have to ask, though,” Scott continued earnestly now, “Did you two- did you,” he trailed off awkwardly before starting again, “just think, did you do something that might have given him hope for something…?”

Well, Lydia thought humorously, if you counted the multiple make-out sessions and the few- _interesting_ , to say the least _-_ conversations, then… “Yes,” she said carefully. “Scott, I know I did. I know I have to talk to him.” At the very least, she owed him that.

He let out a deep breath. “Okay. Lydia, you know I’m never going to try to force you to make a decision one way or the other.”

She watched him expectantly.

“But I do know how you feel about him.”

Her mouth opened but he beat her to it.

“And you and I both know how he feels about you. So you have to make a choice, okay?”

She swallowed, heart thundering in her ears at the very thought, all her hang-ups about such a thing coming to the forefront of her mind.

For a brief moment, she entertained the thought of putting herself out there like he had countless times. Letting herself become vulnerable, able to be crushed by him by a simple two letter word. It sounded terribly frightening.

“You have to either make it clear that you’ll never want a relationship with him, or make it clear that you do. It… it doesn’t matter to me what you decide. I just want both of you to be happy, you know that right?”

Her eyes flicked up to his solemn gaze. “I do,” she responded sincerely, and then, because she’d made a certain decision right then and there, she reached out a hand to squeeze his. “I’ll see you later, Scott.” She nodded at him, and he nodded at her, and she turned and walked away from him, click-clacking towards her car.

She turned her head back just as she was about to close the driver’s side. Scott was standing by his truck, hands stuffed in pockets and waiting for her to leave before he did because he worried about her like that. She gazed at him for a moment longer, and then pulled the door shut.

But to Lydia, another door had opened.

She pulled her phone from her purse and shot off a quick text message before tossing it in the back seat and pulling out of the parking lot.

* * *

 

Stiles’ heart was running a million miles a minute. He’d been in his room, trying to distract himself by reading the fucking bestiary, when he got her text.

SOMETHING HAPPENED. MEET ME AT MY PLACE.

It wasn’t even a question or hesitation on his part at this point- he’d jumped out of his chair and pulled on his shoes as he staggered through the halls of his and Scott’s shared apartment while trying to text her back madly.

She hadn’t replied, and when he tried to call, her phone was off. And he was going out of his mind.

This was why he was swinging into the parking lot of her swanky apartment building as the sun began to set over the horizon, frantically putting the Jeep into park and struggling with his keys.

He looked up, eyes immediately falling on her window- it was ablaze with light. He jumped out of the Jeep, nearly stumbling in his haste, slammed the door behind him and ran into the building, ignoring the odd looks he got as he skidded into the elevator and pressed the button for her floor repeatedly and rapidly.

When he got up there, he didn’t even bother with the doorbell, opting instead to slam on her front door with the palm of his hand.

Several seconds later, the door opened, and he was just able to catch himself before he fell inside. Lydia was in front of him, wearing the same clothes from the presentation.

“What,” he said, furiously, because clearly she was okay, watching him with an unimpressed look on her face, “the _hell_? Lydia, I thought you were attacked or something, you could be a little more specific in your texts sometimes, you know-”

“Come in,” she said calmly, stepping aside.

He stared at her for a moment before finally shaking his head and huffing, infuriated. “I thought you might be with Parrish or something,” he muttered, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Small pause.

“Why would I be?” Her eyebrows rose. “I slept with him sometimes, Stiles, not have existential conversations.” When he gawked, she shrugged. “It’s over now, anyway.”

“Why?” He knew he was going way past his boundary here but he couldn’t help the accusatory note to his voice.

She shrugged again, unreadable. “Not interested anymore in that.”

Pathetic relief filled him. He ignored it.

He strolled in, toeing off his shoes as he went, followed her into the living room, where she sat on the couch, perched on the very edge and wringing her hands, looking very much… nervous?

His anger faded and curiosity took its place. “Lydia?”

She looked up sharply and he saw her consciously stilling her hands. “We should talk.”

Ah. That was what this was about. He should have known.

Really, he should have realized it before, but it had taken a few weeks for it to sink in, and the fact that he hadn’t spoken to her in all that time had only helped to cement it in his mind- she’d only ever shown interest in him once he switched bodies- the fact was, she only every showed interest in Stiles when he was a werewolf.

And the more he thought about it, (because it snuck up on him, this insecurity) the more sense it made. She was a banshee; she was drawn to the supernatural, and perhaps that was the true reason she was attracted to the alpha version. He’d never contemplated it before. He’d just been too enamored, too _stupid_ to question his own luck.

Not anymore; no more delusions. He schooled his features into a neutral expression.

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t. “We can forget about it.” He would probably lay awake in bed for the rest of his life thinking about the feel of her lips.

“Is that what you want?” Her voice was mild, prodding.

No.

“Sure,” he finally replied softly, the hands stuffed in his pockets clenched into fists. She had to know that was a lie. He _knew_ she knew; always, she knew.

There was a long pause, surely the longest silence Stiles had ever experienced in his life, a chasm of miscommunication and hesitance between them.

Maybe, he thought, maybe this was how it was always supposed to be. Maybe she was always going to flit on and on through a long line of men while he chased her fruitlessly. Maybe it was time to force himself to stop.

He was just starting to think that was all she wanted to talk about, formulating an excuse to leave to go home and stare at his ceiling for a few hours as he renewed a journey to try his damnedest to get over Lydia Martin- when she opened her mouth and changed his world forever.

“It’s not what _I_ want.”

The careful words hung in the air, lingering there for several long, agonizing moments after they were uttered so uncharacteristically timidly.

He finally brought his gaze down to hers- her green eyes were bright, hesitant, yet defiant at the same time.

His mind wouldn’t quite work properly. Maybe- maybe he wasn’t understanding properly. Maybe she wanted dinner? Knowing his eyes were likely bugging out of his head, he shook his head slowly. “Um, okay? What _do_ you want?” He tried for nonchalant, but god, he sounded weak.

She stared at him for a moment, then huffed. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“What?” He was aghast. “I’m sorry I can’t read your mind, Lydia! What do you want?” He thought he knew; but, _but_ he was never sure with her- maybe it was just him fantasizing as usual-

She crossed her arms, defensive. “You’re really going to make me say it?” As if it should be _obvious_.

He threw his hands up, just exasperated now and wanting nothing more than to go home at this point. “Well! I’m so sorry for the inconvenience of stating _your basic intentions_.” He shook his head and turned to go, but once again her voice stopped him.

“You.”

He didn’t turn yet, just stared at the doorway and turned that syllable around in his head a few times. _You_.

Or, maybe the letter “U”, hell maybe she was about to spell ‘upside down cake’, what did _he_ know-

She spoke again behind him. “I want you.”

A chill raced down his spine.

“To what?” he asked her, still facing away, voice level, still restraining any kind of hope from springing forth.

There was a pause. “To turn around and come back to me.” Her voice sounded slightly husky. “If you want to.”

There was no question now- He couldn’t believe it. She was putting herself out there, she was doing something she’d never done before; he just _could_ _not_ believe it. He had to see it.

So he turned around.

She was still sitting on the couch with her hands on her lap, her expression almost anxious. Yet her gaze, colliding with his, was marked with determination.

He finally made his voice work, and it sounded shaky even to him. “Why?... why _now_?”

Her throat worked a few times, and he was stunned, absolutely shocked, to notice that her eyes were glistening with tears. “Because I’m afraid,” she admitted, and bit her full bottom lip as if she’d said too much with three words.

Feeling like he was in a trance, he approached slowly, and kneeled down in front of her when he got to her, leaving them almost eye-level. “What are you afraid of?” he asked gently, hands resting on her knees. He felt like he was on the brink of something, on the tip of it, and what happened now could make things go either way.

She watched the path of his hands, eyes shining. “I’m always afraid,” she repeated finally, “I’m afraid you’ll go away.”

She didn’t elaborate on what that meant, but Stiles instantly knew, he knew the significance of those words. Because he knew that Lydia might be the one who had suffered the most pain of all of them. People had left her; left town, left life, left _her_ behind.

And he thought he understood.

“Lydia,” he breathed, feeling a beautiful ache in his chest, the love for her that he always tried to repress rising up and making his own eyes feel a little damp.

She wanted him. That was _real_. He had to take a moment to absorb it fully, breathe that fact in like it was his last breath of oxygen. He didn’t know how to reassure her; he knew he couldn’t make the past okay and he wasn’t even sure that he could change her mind. All he could do was make sure she knew exactly how he felt.

So, not breaking from her gaze, he slowly sunk to his knees in front of her, and she watched him with her mouth drawn tightly. His lips opened a few times before he finally found what he wanted to say, and reacted purely on instinct, hindered by uncertainty no longer.

He lowered his head on her knees, sliding his hands to the backs of her smooth calves. “I’m not going to go away,” he reassured into her skin. Then he turned his head to kiss the inside of her knee. “I promise I won’t go away.” He turned his head to the other side to press a kiss there too, and then he looked up. There was a tear trickling down her cheek now, lips parted as she looked down at him. He offered her a gentle smile, and her hands that had been in her lap reached to tangle into his hair, and it felt so _good_ so he turned his head back to her leg, nudging gently at her upper calf with his nose, eyes closed.

“What if you can’t help it?” Her voice was quiet, and he knew what she was thinking.

He was silent for a few moments, breathing into her skin; she smelled so _good_. “Then we had a good run,” he replied truthfully, because in the end it was her choice to make, because he wasn’t going to lie to her- everything, every relationship in this fragile little world of theirs was a risk because, as circumstances had taught them time and time again, there was no telling when _anything_ was going to go away.

“But I’ll tell you something right now Lydia,” he added, voice rough. “I’m in too deep with you. If _you_ … went away, and we’d never been together, I know it wouldn’t hurt any less than if we were. That doesn’t change.” He said the fact, spoke it into the air where it hung between them but he knew she knew that already. It wasn’t news.

So why did her eyes well up with tears again?

Something in that must have reverberated with her, because she finally uttered the word he had been waiting to hear, whispered so quietly he might not have heard it if he weren’t looking for it so keenly.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chap will begin immediately where this one leaves off... and it should be fun! ;) OMG we're almost at the end! I don't know how to feel about that. lol.
> 
> As always, thanks to everyone who's been leaving comments I love you sooo much, and can i persuade you to leave another one today? ;)


	20. something universal

She was crying, she knew, as she said it, because he was kneeling in front of her and he was looking at her like that and he loved her he loved her he _loved_ her so unconditionally, and always did even when she pushed him away; even when he thought that she would never love him back and wasn’t that what real love was in the end, admiring the constellations while thinking that the stars would never comprehend that you existed?

He loved her so deeply she didn’t know what to do with herself, but suddenly all she wanted was to love him back.

He was right, there was no telling how much time they had left; and wasn’t that the thing that should motivate her more to do what she wanted? Because she knew, she knew too well from watching Stiles die in front of her- she was in too deep, too, despite never having really been with him. It didn’t matter if they kept toeing the line between friends and lovers forever- when it came to Stiles, there _was_ no line, there _was_ no way to describe what he meant to her anymore.

What was kissing or sex or relationship statuses in the grand scheme of things? Compared to thrilling light touches and significant glances and tight hugs that felt like coming home and constant support that had persisted through years and years? There was no taking that away.

And Lydia acknowledged to herself right now, that she really didn’t want to.

His head lifted, golden eyes meeting green. His throat worked a few times. “Can I kiss you?” His voice was tentative.

Her voice was barely there but her heart leapt with anticipation. “Yes.”

His eyes brightened. He rose and she leaned down and their noses bumped a little awkwardly but in the end they got it right, lips meeting softly in the middle.

She removed a hand from his hair to place it on his jaw, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb, and she felt the tremor that shook through him, but his hands stayed in their place on her knees.

His kiss was almost too careful, too deliberate, like he was still trying to push unspoken reassurances into it. And she kissed right back with some reassurances of her own. It was sweet, meaningful, and felt like an entire conversation so that when they broke away, there were no further words needed.

He settled back on his heels as they stared at each other, breathing heavily.

“What now?” he asked hesitantly.

She shrugged, not really caring as her hand slid slowly off his jaw. She was done being afraid, and as long as he was looking at her like that, she thought she might never be.

He swallowed, and she saw his gaze dart down and back up before quite suddenly, he was standing up, looking flustered. “Maybe… you know what, you’re probably tired from your presentation, I should come back tomorrow.”

She felt disappointed, but if that was what he wanted, to take it slow, then she understood. She’d certainly put him through enough already. She hugged the couch pillow to her chest. “Okay.”

He nodded fast, ran a hand quickly through his hair, nodded again as if deciding on something. He was three steps to the door when he stopped, whipped around, asked almost timidly: “Can I kiss you _again_?”

Lydia, laughing, barely had time to nod before his lips were crushed against hers again. She snagged his collar and wrenched him closer. Somehow during the course of the kiss he had made his way onto the couch seat next to her, leaning into her but hands meekly placed on the couch cushion on either side of her.

She broke away just enough to say, “ _Touch_ me,” and it seemed that was all he needed to hear; those hands were carefully un-tucking her blouse from her skirt as he mouthed wetly at her neck.

She arched her body into him, closing her eyes to the sensation of his large, warm hands sliding under the material of her shirt, splaying hotly on her skin. How many times had she fantasized about his hands? About how his tongue would feel brushing against her skin? How soft his hair would feel when she ran her fingers through it?

In the midst of a Stiles-induced haze, she decided she wanted more.

She pushed him back, and he followed her lead, falling back onto the couch behind him, leaving Lydia on her hands and knees on top of him straddling his torso. His eyes looked almost glazed, lips wet and flushed red, hair sticking up every which way.

She liked it. A lot.

“I hate this shirt,” she said conversationally, picking at the top button and brushing against his collarbone. His fingers, still on her waist under her blouse, twitched. “Not because it’s plaid.”

“Then why,” he managed to get out.

She leaned in, so close that her lips were brushing against his ear. “Because it’s still _on_ you.” And then because she was there, she bit his earlobe gently.

He groaned. “Fuck- Lyds- are you _sure_ -?”

She hummed her assent, licking a path up his neck to his jaw.

His voice was ragged. “Shouldn’t we- I don’t know, go on a date or something before we start taking cl-” She interrupted him by rolling her hips casually over his (payback, frankly), and could have sworn his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he made a choking sound.

She smirked. “I think we’re way past that, don’t you?” He didn’t even respond, and she began unbuttoning his shirt. When she got to the bottom, he lifted himself off the couch to help her take it off of him but curse him and his penchant for layering, because he still had a white tee. Still, at least she’d unveiled his arms, which were just as nicely toned as she remembered.

Now sitting up supported by one hand, he was back to kissing her, but she was determined. Her hands reached under the edge of the shirt and tugged up. He leaned back only to let her peel it off before he was immediately chasing her lips again. She’d fantasized about this too, dragging her fingernails down his toned stomach and hearing the little hitch in his breath in between kisses.

Then his hands were tentatively pulling at her shirt too, fingering the material as a question. She answered it by breaking away to lift her blouse off, tossing it behind the couch.

Their eye contact held for a moment more before his eyes drifted down to her chest. She didn’t even wait for him to finish drinking her in before she said, plainly but rather more breathlessly than she had intended, “I want you. Right now.”

His eyes immediately came back to her face, but he didn’t say anything.

A shred of uncertainty nudged at her. “Unless _you_ don’t-”

He cut her off with a searing kiss, hands coming up to cup her breasts, thumbs idly stroking circles that drove her up the wall in the best way possible. “Are you insane,” he breathed into her mouth. “Where?”

She barely got out, “my bedroom,” because she honestly didn’t want to have sex on the couch (this time anyway), when his hands lowered to the backs of her thighs, flexing a few times to get a good grip, and then he was standing up, picking her clean off the couch too.

Hmm. He was stronger than he looked.

He staggered immediately, forever cursed with balance issues; Lydia wrapped her legs around his waist and he righted himself.

He was impressively graceful after that. He hardly bumped her into anything as they navigated, but then again he’d been here so many times he probably knew the way by heart. They barely made it to Lydia’s bedroom door before he was slamming her against the hallway wall, kisses sloppy and perfect. She winded her arms around his neck, rutting against him, trying to encourage him to go into the room because she wanted him so desperately and her body was waking up and realizing wait she had never had him before and at the moment it was _all_ she wanted.

He didn’t move, taking his time, and she rolled against him hard, finally getting a reaction.

“This isn’t going to last if you keep doing stuff like that,” he groaned, taking a moment to simply rest his forehead against hers.

A smile curled on her lips and she let one of her legs drop down to support her weight. “Then get down to business.”

He took her words in a slightly different way than intended. “I can do that,” he breathed, nodding rapidly. One of his hands immediately slid up her thigh, under her skirt that had bunched up around her waist, and she had barely a moment to realize _oh god_ before his long fingers pushed her underwear aside and brushed her.

They both made some unintelligible sounds at the contact; Lydia could _feel_ the rough pads of each of his fingers and she was burning up so much that it was almost painful. He seemed to take a moment to collect himself before those fingers dipped into her. Her head tipped to hit the wall, delirious.

He sighed a little, puff of air hitting her cheek. “God, Lydia, you’re so…” Lydia was prepared for any number of words after that- _wet_ or _hot_ or _tight_ or whatever he was going to say. What she was not prepared for was what he actually said, what he sighed wonderingly into her ear, “…beautiful.” And her heart skipped a beat.

At least he couldn’t hear it this time.

Stiles’ forehead rested against hers, eyes closed as if in prayer, as he purposefully pumped his fingers, the rhythm pushing her against the wall with every unhurried stroke.

It felt incredible; Stiles with one hand tightly bracing her at the waist, the other knuckles-deep in her, warm and long and dimly she registered some incredibly obscene sounds. But after a bit of this hot smolder she hissed in frustration, feeling like what she wanted was just out of her _grasp_ at his pace. She pulled the leg that was still hiked up on his waist a little higher, searching for the right angle. “Could you be any _slower_?”

“Challenge accepted,” and his mischievous voice was unusually deep as he slowed impossibly more, and she was honestly going to smack him but then those long fingers were curling to hit a new spot that nearly made her eyes roll back, one hand yanking at his hair and the other grasping fruitlessly for purchase on the wall.

But, somewhat incoherently she was able to think to herself, she didn’t want it to end like that; she wanted him inside her.

She told him as much.

And she’d never seen him move so fast; seconds later they were collapsing on her bed.

He was out of breath on top of her, balanced on his hands and knees, and then his hand came up and he sucked his fingers almost absentmindedly, not breaking eye contact.

That was it. “Now,” she inarticulately managed, and it took a minute and a fair bit of fumbling, but they were finally fully unclothed and still slowly, languidly kissing, Lydia now straddling him, urgency disappeared but a slow, deep burning sensation taking over instead.

But before anything could happen, he stopped her. “Wait.”

She paused.

His hand reached up, behind her head, and she had no idea what he was doing. Until he carefully pulled the pins from her bun, one by one, his gaze boring intensely into hers not once even looking away. She felt strangely more breathless by this action than any of the sexier ones before it, felt more stripped bare by his expression than by the fact that she was naked.

Her long hair tumbled away from the nape of her neck, falling into her peripheral vision, and he dropped those pins- she heard them tumble onto the floor for them to find later. Automatically, she reared her head back to shake her hair out, and when she focused her attention back down at him, he was smiling almost peacefully.

“There,” he said. “Now it’s perfect.”

It was.

But it was _more_ , too. She’d had sex countless times, but there was more than pleasure welling up in her, there was contentment of the emotional kind. And she felt, skin to skin with Stiles Stilinski, like she finally knew what making love meant.

At some point, he rolled them over and she let him set her gently into the sheets, and his movement wasn’t fast or urgent; no, it was slow and deliberate, arm braced beside her head shaking with the effort of keeping it that way while he lowered his face into the crook of her neck, breathed her in; and it was causing a different kind of burn in her, her toes curling around the sheets.

He paused to lift a hand to hook her leg onto his hip and- _oh_. Suddenly the burn had a purpose, and she was hurtling towards her peak.

And at the end of that road, he was pressing a kiss to her cheekbone and then all he said, simply, was, “ _Lydia_ ,” like her name was the beginning and end of everything, and all she could do was respond in kind.

And after all that, it was kind of perfect too; and Lydia, drunk with happiness, thought this was it, this was the best sex she’d ever have because it was _more_ than sex.

(The second time was better.)

 

* * *

 

 

They lay tangled in the sheets silently for a long while, turned on their sides facing each other, legs intertwined; his arm was thrown over her shoulders and at some point he’d pulled the blanket over them, too.

She snuggled into him, fitting her head into the crook of his neck where it always fit so perfectly when they hugged, and his chin rested lightly on the top of her head.

Out of nowhere, he said, “So. That was fun.” She could hear the smile pulling at his lips.

She closed her eyes and snuggled closer.

“I can’t believe I had _sex_ with _Lydia Martin_ ,” he grinned, sounding overly awe-struck.

“Shut up.” But she thought about it, the progression of their relationship, and mused, “We did everything backwards.”

“Um, _you_ did maybe, _I_ certainly did not,” He replied dreamily into her hair. “I met you, got a crush on you, fell in love with you, took you to a dance, kissed you, and then we had sex on your extremely comfy bed.”

“There were years between all those events.”

“Yeah, but the point is they happened in _order_ ,” Stiles retorted, poking her in the shoulder. She rolled her eyes. They were silent for a while more.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he blurted suddenly.

She opened one eye, bemused. He actually looked expectant. “I thought that was a given,” she said dryly.

He let out a breath and his beam was bright, adorably lopsided, cheekbones poking out. “So can I call you my girlfriend in public.”

“Only if I get to call you my boyfriend,” Lydia replied, trying to sound offhand and failing, blushing even as she said it because she could sit straight-faced through the most filthy dirty talk but when it came to normal couple-y things she couldn’t help but get flustered.

“Oh my god, say that again.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re my boyfriend.” And yet, the words sent a small thrill to her own chest as well.

“Aaah.” His hand beneath the covers rubbed tenderly at the small of her back before pressing her closer, and he closed his eyes as the words washed over him, grin widening. “That’s how I’m going to introduce myself from now on. Hello my name is Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin’s boyfriend. May I take your fucking order?”

Lydia giggled a bit into his shoulder, feeling ridiculously happy, and impulsively raised her head to kiss him.

His lips readily met hers, and she felt like she was home right here.

His stomach growled.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he muttered into her mouth before pulling away. “I can’t believe this.”

She laughed. “Are you hungry?”

His eyes darkened and she was rather puzzled as to why until he spoke. “That depends. Dessert first?” His voice was mischievous, velvety.

Her insides flip-flopped at the thought of his dark head nestled between her thighs, but there was time for that. “No,” she said firmly. “Real food first.” Now that she thought about it, she was quite hungry, too. She hadn’t exactly been eating well getting prepared for her presentation for the last few days.

He accepted that with a single blink. “Okay.”

“I want blueberry waffles.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had even thought about them. There was barely a pause before he answered.

“It’s dinnertime and you want sugary stuff?”

She shrugged, relieved he hadn’t made a comment. “Well, I guess we are having dessert first, then. In a sense.”

He laughed. “Oh, you’re funny, Lydia Martin. Fine!” Quite abruptly, he was sitting up in bed and she was mesmerized by the dimples in his shoulders. “Waffles it is.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, they had blueberry pancakes (“Lydia, you can’t make waffles without a waffle _iron_.”). Lydia had insisted adamantly to help him cook, and now here they were, eating at Lydia’ little kitchen table in their shabbiest clothes.

His hair was messy; he wore only his white tee from earlier and gray sweatpants slung low on his hips (When they had been cooking Lydia silently counted her blessings every time he turned around, because… his _ass_.  Ahem.). In other words he looked like sex on a stick.

Also like the most adorable man to have ever existed, she noted as he drowned his pancakes in syrup. She wondered briefly how such a dichotomy was possible.

Meanwhile he was grinning at her, taking in her appearance with darkened eyes. She’d put on his flannel that he’d left on the couch, and it was long enough to cover her to mid-thigh. She wanted to say she’d done it out of a sense of irony but that wasn’t really true.

The real reason was simple. It smelled like Stiles.

She suddenly realized his maple syrup was overflowing in the plate. “Stiles, I think that’s enough syrup.”

He looked down and started, fumbling the bottle upright and nearly tipping it completely over in the process before handing it slowly to her. She accepted it with exaggerated carefulness.

He smiled softly at her act of teasing. And then, out of the blue: “Why blueberry waffles, by the way?”

She took her time looking up. He was watching her warily. Like maybe he already had a pretty good guess.

She looked back at her plate, stabbing a piece of pancake with her fork. “Just because.”

They both knew that wasn’t true. But it was still an answer- and he knew how to read her better than anyone, so she wasn’t surprised that he understood exactly.

His hand snaked out to rest on hers that was resting on the table, and it was a comforting weight. “We’re going to buy you a waffle iron later,” he promised, and just like that, any tension that had mounted had disappeared.

So they ate, and it was just like any other time they did something together because that was how they had always been.

Except it was a little different- like how Stiles tried to sneak a strawberry from her plate, and she smacked his hand away and popped the strawberry in her own mouth, and he leaned forward and kissed her hard but it turned out to be a ploy to taste the strawberry. But Lydia didn’t mind.

She didn’t mind that they ended up talking - talking about Lydia’s presentation, and Stiles’ job hunt, and then arguing over mindless, inane things- like whether plaid was, in fact, objectively fashionable (Lydia maintained it wasn’t) and then over whether orange and blue were actually a good combination (it was a draw). Their conversations were like it was any normal day. But it wasn’t- it was better.

They were washing dishes, Stiles forearms-deep in soapy water and Lydia slowly swiping plates with a dishtowel, when Lydia was struck with the desire to go outside into the evening because she’d been cooped up in here far too long with her work, and there was no one she’d rather venture out with but him. “Let’s go somewhere,” she suggested suddenly.

He froze, arms pausing in their scrubbing. “Like a date? You’re asking me on a date is that correct or am I just reaching?”

She laughed because yes, she supposed she was, and she was remembering something the other Stiles had told her a lifetime ago; and it was the first time, markedly, that she was thinking of him without a pang in her stomach. “Unless you take issue with that.”

He resumed scrubbing a little faster now, voice almost nonchalant. “I literally can’t think of anything better than a date with Lydia Martin.”

“What about the Mets?” One of her eyebrows quirked up.

He sighed in an over exaggerated way as he handed her the last dish. “You got me there.” She hit him in the arm with the dish towel.

“Ouch,” he yelped, rubbing his arm. “Okay, I’m sorry. Going on a date with you has been like, my biggest dream since grade three. Actually, more like grade four, because my biggest dream in grade three was marrying you but then I became a realist. Kind of. Oh god that’s creepy isn’t it? That’s definitely creepy. I-”

“I already knew that,” Lydia said with amusement, because he hadn’t exactly been subtle in the earlier years of knowing each other. He sighed in relief, dried his hands and leaned in to kiss her, lips lingering.

“Girl of my dreams,” he murmured, tugging her close. “Literally. No idea how I got so lucky.”

She had to wonder- Why did he always assume she was anything less than crazy about him? She was going to have to work on correcting these notions.

“Same,” she replied.

He looked at her, pulling away in surprise.

She felt a little self-conscious so she tugged at his arm. “Let’s go.”

The moment was quickly forgotten, to her relief. “Where to?”

“Wherever.” She hadn’t actually thought that far.

He looked like he was thinking it over. “But we already ate.”

“I didn’t say dinner,” she pointed out. She didn’t even want fancy dinner right now. She wanted something normal, something domestic, something well within the realm of possibility because she’d seen too much of things that were otherwise.

He acknowledged that. “Okay. Dealer’s choice?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was bizarre, but they ended up going to the grocery store. She soon found out that he reverted back to an attention-deficient child in such a place.

They’d changed clothes, obviously- Lydia into a cute puff-sleeved red dress and hair in a loose braid, and Stiles into a Henley and jeans, although his hair was still sticking up from where Lydia had run her hands through it. She didn’t tell him though, because she liked looking at her handiwork.

They held hands as they roamed through the aisles, and it wasn’t like they hadn’t held hands before, but now it was different. Because now everyone who glanced over them and labeled them a couple weren’t wrong. Now they _were_ a couple.

The thought made Lydia absurdly happy.

Presently, Stiles was tapping away one-handed on his phone, brow furrowed.

“Who are you talking to?” Lydia asked, bumping her shoulder into his arm and swinging the basket with every step.

He finished typing and sent the text, shoving the phone into his back pocket. “Scott. I’m telling him how my first date with you is to a grocery store.”

She bit her lip at his indecipherable tone of voice. “Stiles, it was too late for dinner and I needed groceries, but we can go-”

He cut her off. “It’s perfect.” He was grinning like a loon so Lydia felt better about it. Suddenly he was craning his neck over their shoulders. “Oooh Lydia, look there’s Lunchables on sale, can we get Lunchables?”

“Stiles, we’re adults who can both cook and those things are full of preservatives and have hardly any nutritional value. We are _not_ getting Lunchables.”

“Lydiaaaa…” he whined, tugging at her hand, and suddenly his attention was diverted. “Oh my god, Fruit Roll Ups.”

Eventually Lydia cracked and tossed the Dunkaroos he’d been eyeing at the time into the basket. He immediately insisted on holding the groceries.

“I am _perfectly capable_ of-”

“I want to, though,” and he melted her completely with that tone of voice, so she handed the basket off without another comment and when he straightened she pecked a lingering kiss to his cheek so he was blushing faintly when he was back at full height.

They wandered through dairy and the bakery, picking up milk and eggs and bread and other necessities. Stiles got a little distracted in the seafood department, entranced by the crabs in the tank for a full minute before Lydia tugged his arm forward

At the check-out Stiles snagged a two packages of Reese cups, winking at her as he tossed them on the conveyor belt. She didn’t say a thing. She wanted a Reese cup.

“Hi there,” intoned the cashier, a middle-aged woman, “how are you?”

“Good, thanks,” Lydia started to say, but Stiles cut in. “Excellent. This is my girlfriend, Lydia Martin. Isn’t she beautiful?”

Lydia covered her mouth to hold back a giggle. The people behind them in line were staring quizzically at Stiles. The cashier seemed unfazed, even breaking out into an indulgent smile.

“She is.”

“Practically a goddess,” Stiles agreed with a nod.

Lydia elbowed him, feeling a slight flush blossoming on her cheeks as she fished through her purse for her wallet. “My boyfriend isn’t so bad either.”

“He’s not,” the cashier agreed sagely. The line behind them tittered- Lydia heard a girl whisper “He’s so cute,” to her friend, but thought it would probably spoil the mood if she fixed her with a murderous glare so instead opted to pay for the groceries in record time.

They hadn’t gotten more than halfway across the parking lot before Stiles threw his hands up dramatically. “Lydia, I totally forgot. We have to buy you a waffle iron.”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, tugging him forward by the hand. She just wanted to get back in the Jeep with him and kiss him over the console and watch his profile as they drove around aimlessly and put her hand over his like a sappy teenager. “We’ll buy it some other time.”

He fell into step with her reluctantly, now sounding like he was in pure anguish. “This is important,” he whined. “How am I supposed to make you waffles tomorrow?”

Lydia paused and he froze up, too. He’d just voice an assumption that Lydia had already unconsciously been thinking- that Stiles would stay the night. Was that jumping in too soon?

She shook herself immediately. Not soon enough, more like. Meanwhile he was already stuttering.

“I- I mean, what I mean by that is-”

“We’ll have French toast,” Lydia said smoothly, nodding to the grocery bag in his hand. He stared at her for a moment before breaking into a gentle grin and relaxed visibly as they stopped next to the Jeep.

“I love you,” he said, and the words were unassuming, but stated as fact. His eyes were earnest and open like always, the truth of it shining from them, and although Lydia had already known, happiness swelled in her chest at hearing them again.

“Same,” she said, echoing herself from earlier in the evening.

She saw him sifting those words over in his head, trying to decipher if it was a sassy or true comment. She saw the moment he stopped trying. Because she knew that to him, hearing it out loud didn’t matter.

Instead he merely smiled brighter, sharp cheekbones casting prominent shadows on his face, and turned to open the back of the Jeep and toss the grocery bags inside.

As his back was turned, she realized maybe he never even _expected_ to hear it from her. And in the end _that_ was what made her say it, this murmured clarification:

“I do love you,” and the words tumbled from her mouth so _easily_ ; she’d expected that she’d have to force them, not because they were untrue but because they made her oh so vulnerable. But, it wasn’t the case at all. They fell from her lips like they’d been hovering in her throat since the day he blundered into her life.

He whipped around very fast at that, accidentally dropping one of the heavier bags with a dull _clunk_ sound, but neither really cared at this moment. He blinked once,

twice,

thrice. Ran a hand over his mouth. Said nothing. They were left staring at each other with bated breath.

Stiles Stilinski was at a loss for words.

She saw when he finally registered it; registered that she was standing in front of him and not taking it back or trivializing it and that it was true and had been true for a very long time, and his tawny eyes glassed over with emotion.

She expected a kiss when he finally closed the small distance between them, but instead it was a hug; the same hug they had always shared, the constant throughout the years. He opened his arms silently and she knew this familiar dance so she stepped into it and rested her body against his warm, solid chest.

He rested his chin on the top of her head; her head fit comfortably in the crook between his shoulder and jaw. One hand of his in her hair tucked her closer, and the other rested on the small of her back; and one of hers was sandwiched between them and the other around his back.

He still didn’t say a damn thing. His breath was steady in his chest but she could feel a shudder rippling in his body. She nestled closer into him.

“If I knew this would get you to shut up, I would have said it a long time ago,” she whispered into his shoulder, trying not to sound too teary-eyed herself.

She heard him sniff a little into her hair. “Lydia, for _the love of god_ , let me enjoy the moment.”

It was more touching than a hug as defined was really supposed to be.

But then again, Lydia thought as she turned her nose into his throat and smiled into his shirt, that was how it had always been for them. Everything was amplified and yet calmed. What she felt for him was so overwhelming and yet the most comfortable thing she’d ever experienced.

And when he finally pulled away and they fell into each other’s eyes all over again, Lydia silently noted that Stiles, too, looked absolutely beautiful when he cried.

Tears falling openly on both sides, he pressed his lips to hers with a smile still on his face, cradling her face with both hands and Lydia clutching desperately to the collar of his shirt, and they kissed while eclipsed in the dying light of a grocery store parking lot. And by now their lips had met so many times but Lydia could swear that each and every one was something new, something better than the last, and this one was perhaps the best.

It was that feeling- what was that _feeling_ that Allison had described, so long ago? Of not being able to breathe until she was with Scott? And then, exasperated when Lydia with all her great intelligence failed to understand: _You’ve_ had _boyfriends_. To which Lydia had replied shortly, _None like that._ Never like that. Except she’d been mistaken, hadn’t she?

Stiles Stilinski had been in her life all along.

 

 

 

-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. That was fun. The story is over, but I’ll always be around writing fics and crying about things! feel free to message me on my tumblr at [arrowcave ](http://www.arrowcave.tumblr.com/) . I love talking to you all, I don’t care if its about witched or teen wolf in general or a prompt or any of my fandoms or even if it’s just to say hi. :)
> 
> This fic has been a hell of a journey for me. Still can’t believe I wrote 80k in under three months ( now if only I could apply some of that dedication/inspiration to my original stories… sigh, such is the way of life…), while in school this entire time. Of course, I think this good luck is majorly due to the support I got writing it. So much gratitude to the readers, the people who liked or kudos-ed or favourited or followed or subscribed.
> 
> And while I really appreciate seeing the hit count increasing and things like that, really I can never be sure if anyone’s actually reading it unless I get tangible feedback. And that’s why reviews, comments, messages have been so important to this story’s completion. Man, you guys _inspire_ me. I am not kidding when I say this story probably would not have been finished without you. So to everyone who ever took the time to do that and will do that in the future, thank you. And a particularly special thank you to the people who have been on this journey with me virtually the whole time; you know who you are. ;)
> 
> In closing: One last time, no matter if you're reading this five seconds after I posted or five years from now, I ask if you’d like to leave a comment. In any case, I’m touched that you got through 80k to see it through til the end. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do leave a note if you're interested in the story! It really helps me get writing done, and I love hearing from you.
> 
> And I'm [arrowcave ](http://www.arrowcave.tumblr.com/) on tumblr in case you want to come cry with me over ships


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